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THE HIGHLAND NURSE 









































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THE 


HIGHLAND NURSE 

A TALE 


BY 

THE DUKE OF ARGYLL 



NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 


Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


All rights reserved. 


*1-* '*U6. 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE- 


I was born in that region of Scotland which slopes 
from the hills of Dumfries and Wigton southwards 
to the Solway Firth, and westward to the Irish Chan- 
nel. It is a pleasant land, lying open to all the sun 
that our climate gives us, and no less open to all its 
winds. It is watered hy many streams which in their 
upper course wind through pastoral valleys broad and 
gentle in their declivity ; hut on entering the lower 
country they run often through narrow glens and 
ravines which have generally steep, and sometimes 
precipitous sides. The top of these, especially where 
a bend in the stream affords some projecting point 
or promontory, was a favourite site for the old castles 
and houses of defence, which, during the stormy 
middle ages, sheltered the old Barons of the Border. 

In one part of this region the rivers form many 


6 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


small lakes ere they reach the sea, and on an island 
in one of these, the famous Lochmaben, the great 
Norman family of the Bruce had settled in great 
feudal strength and splendour, long before they 
aspired to the crown of Scotland. 

Most of those old castles are now not only ruinous, 
but exist in fragments only, whilst many have been 
wholly effaced, haying been used for generations as 
convenient quarries for every adjacent house or dyke. 
Here and there some solitary tower with broken 
battlements, battered windows, and crumbling ma- 
chicolations, catches the eye, and reminds us of the 
vanished mediaeval life. There are, however, some 
of those castles which have had another fate. The 
sites on which they were built have never ceased to 
be the homes of succeeding generations, and the old 
massive walls have been strong as rocks to sustain 
tne lighter structures which became possible only 
under conditions of security and peace. Those sites, 
originally adopted for defence, were continued at 
first from habit, and became, at a later time, more 
valued for the beauty of their position. The steep 
and rocky banks on which they stood were always 
clothed with wood — often the remains of the wild tan- 
gled growth of the old Caledonian forest, and some- 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


7 


times the result of later planting. The views of the 
glen — seen sometimes far down its course — of the 
winding stream, and of quiet little holms of grassy 
meadow, became more and more appreciated with the 
progress of civilisation ; and so it came about that not 
a few houses, with all the comforts and requirements 
of modern life, rose gradually on the walls and 
foundations of the roughest and rudest keeps of the 
feudal ages. 

Such was the house — such was the situation of 
my father’s home. It was, and had been from time 
immemorial, the residence of an estate, not very 
large in value, but very considerable in extent. It 
stretched far up into the moorland to the north ; it 
embraced several mountain streams, and below the 
confluence of these, it included both sides of a valley 
sufficiently wide to be called a strath. Lower down, 
the estate followed the stream, and embraced much 
variety of ground occupied by small but comfortable 
farms. The old castle, having passed through many 
developments into a comfortable modern house, rose 
on a steep bluff of the river bank, with old trees 
planted at the foot and climbing up the face. The 
lower walls, all along the face of the bank, were the 
ancient walls of the original castle, and an experi- 


8 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


enced antiquary of the region ascribed them to the 
13th century. One of the donjon cavities, devoted 
of old to the safe keeping of prisoners, had been 
utilised as a servant’s bedroom, and in adapting it 
for this purpose it became necessary to cut windows 
through the walls to admit light and air from the 
face of the rock on which it was founded. In the 
operation it was found that the thickness of the 
walls varied from 8 to 10 feet, so solidly built, and 
with such tenacious lime that the masons declared 
they would have more easily worked through solid 
rock. All through the house bits of passages cut out 
of this thickness, — bits of stairs, half-straight, half- 
winding — testified to the devices by which alone the 
old could be pieced on to the new. 

My father had succeeded to this estate and home 
in middle life. His earlier years had been spent in 
the army and in Parliament, but on his succession 
he retired to the home of his ancestors, Strathgled, 
and led the life of a country gentleman. Planting was 
one of his favourite amusements, and many hundred 
acres of bare moorland he covered with thriving 
woods of larch and spruce. He had, however, also 
some peculiar pursuits which gave him much em- 
ployment in wet weather in the house. He was a 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


9 


first-rate mechanic. His turning lathes were the 
most elaborate and costly that could be supplied by 
the famous house of Holtzapfel in London. He had 
stores of the most beautiful tusks of ivory, and of 
the hardest and most richly coloured woods of 
tropical forests. Numerous articles about the house 
were of his own making, whether of wood or metal, 
or of both. The handles of his hatchets, for mark- 
ing and pruning trees, were of ebony, exquisitely 
patterned when roughness was needed to help the 
firmness of the grip, and as exquisitely smoothed and 
polished where balls and beads of solid ivory were 
needed for ornament. A tropical nut, with shell of 
enormous thickness, and of the densest texture, and 
of lovely blended colouring, was a favourite subject 
for his lathe. Out of it he made drinking-cups of 
marvellous ovals, with ring-margins of the whitest 
ivory, and so dexterously worked upon the shell 
that the finest touch could not detect the joining. 
Anything and everything mechanical attracted 
his attention. By a mechanical contrivance hens 
were beguiled into registering the exact heat 
they developed in the work of hatching. A metallic 
egg was constructed, of the most perfect oval, which 
was divided into two halves, each half fitting into 


10 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


the other by a finely adjusted screw. In the interior 
of this deceptive egg, perfectly whitened by a film 
of plaster of Paris, was introduced a small thermom- 
eter like those now used for the clinical purpose of 
taking organic temperatures. Under the unsus- 
picious and innocent hen in the middle of her 
maternal duties, the egg was introduced among her 
own, and then after a proper time, withdrawn, 
rapidly opened, and the temperature read off and 
ascertained. Then came the preparation of a little 
room with stoves and an apparatus for keeping up 
the proper heat, — its equipment with well-aired 
baskets full of eggs, — and in due time the mechanical 
production of swarms of chickens, which presently 
came to know their foster-parent and covered him 
from head to foot whenever he entered the room, 
with little fluttering balls of animated feathers. In 
such pursuits, varied by more ambitious attempts to 
understand and imitate the machinery of flight in 
birds, every day was full-handed with its own work, 
whilst the years passed over an improved and im- 
proving land. 

My mother had died when I was five years old, 
and I was brought up, an only child, entirely at 
home, with no other education than that which I 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


11 


obtained from a succession of Scotch tutors, and 
from my own reading out of a very miscellaneous 
library. That reading was omnivorous, from 
Grimm’s German stories to the letters of Junius and 
the dry histories of Hume and Robertson. But my 
passion was natural history, and the tales of voyages 
and travels. Out of doors, the very early present of 
a small field telescope from my father was the de- 
light of my life. By means of it I traced every song 
to the bird that sang it, and so came soon to identify 
by their notes all the song birds of the country. I 
used to watch for hours the habits and manners of 
the various species of titmice, of the creepers, and of 
the golden-crested wrens ; whilst a very early turn 
for writing began in a daily journal in which every 
special fact was noted. The conversation of my 
father with eminent mechanics and engineers who 
were his occasional guests, was an education in it- 
self, from the questions raised as to the forces of 
nature and as to the means by which they could be 
brought under the control of man. Works of fiction 
did not attract me ; but the imaginative faculties 
were kept well awake by my father’s taste for the 
old stories of the border feuds, of adventurous raids 
against the English, and above all by his love of 


12 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


telling stories of the old beliefs and traditions of the 
Celtic Highlands. Whence he derived his know- 
ledge of these last, it never occurred to me to specu- 
late ; but he used to tell them often with such vivid- 
ness and with such easy adoption of a peculiar 
Gaelic accent and intonation, that his tales seemed 
to be the familiar echo of some loved and early days. 
Children are not critical, especially if brought up at 
home ; and it was only in much later life that I 
remember having noticed in my father’s Highland 
stories and tales, not only a voice and accent, but often 
also gestures and expressions of face, which must 
have come from some personality who had made 
upon him an early and indelible impression. Only 
on one occasion did I ever hear a name mentioned in 
connexion with them, and that name sounded to me 
so strange and outlandish that it speedily faded 
from my memory, and by no effort could I recall io 
on the rare occasions on which it occurred to me to 
try. I had a vague impression that it was a subject 
on which my father did not like to be questioned. 
This impression was confirmed by accidentally hear- 
ing a tutor of mine, in conversation with a visitor, 
allude obscurely to an old nurse or servant about 
whose story and fate there was some mystery which 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 13 

was never talked of in the house, but who had been 
about my father in his childhood. 

On the morning of the day when our tale begins, 
being then about thirteen years of age, I was sitting 
curled up in a little circular opening, more like the 
embrasure for a gun than a window, which had 
been pierced in the wall to let in light upon rather 
a dark corner of my father’s turning- room or work- 
shop. This was a delightful room, long and narrow, 
running the whole length of one of the old walls, 
but at the top of them, close under the machicola- 
tions where the master builders of those old days 
could safely build them a good deal thinner than at 
their base. Five large windows had been opened in 
it, and opposite to each window in the room the 
floor was occupied by a turning-lathe, there being a 
series of them, each adapted for some special pur- 
pose. At the head and front of all, there was a 
beautiful “ rose-lathe ” engine for doing the finest 
work, glittering in u barrels” of burnished brass, 
with a large fly-wheel, and pedals, on which the 
least touch sent the machinery into easy and rapid 
motion. The walls were covered with racks for 
holding tools of every shape and name, all kept 
carefully free from rust, bright and polished, fit for 


14 THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 

use at a moment’s notice. There were chests of 
small square drawers each labelled with its con- 
tents, and into which I used to peer with childish 
delight at the beautiful bits of wood, and the 
corners and chips and scraps of lovely ivory with 
which some of them were filled. On rows of shelves 
round the walls there were Hessian crucibles in 
u nests,” and glass vessels of wondrous form such 
as we see in the old pictures of the dens of mediaeval 
alchemists. 

But there was one feature in the room, due to its 
situation in the castle, which was my special delight. 
The old trees which had been planted in the bottom 
of the glen, at the foot of the castle rock, had — as 
all trees will do when planted in hollows of the 
land — shot upwards to reach the light and air, and 
had grown to height rather than to branchy breadth. 
Their tops, well ranged and equalled by competition 
with each other, had, after the growth of perhaps 
more than a century, just reached to a level of the 
walls, which was a little below that of the turning- 
room windows, so that looking out from them we 
looked down on a mass of foliage or of well entan- 
gled branches. This is always beautiful, but it had 
a double interest to me, because these branches were 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


15 


the home of a large and long- established rookery, 
and the domestic economy of the “ crows ” # was an 
endless subject of observation and of interest. My 
little embrasure-like window was a coigne of special 
vantage. Close to it, but a little under it, spread 
the boughs of a tall and healthy sycamore, on whose 
forked and sturdy twigs some four or five pairs had 
selected a specially firm foundation for their nests. 
The intimacy of years had made me feel the 
familiar friend of each of them. Year after year I 
had watched the graceful curves in which, with half 
closed wings, they dropped to the grassy slopes 
below; the proud and well contented strut with 
which they walked ; the examination of the fallen 
sticks ; the picking up of one, and then its rejection 
for another which seemed better fitted for their pur- 
pose. I had watched their roguish thefts from one 
another, and the condign punishment sometimes 
inflicted by the wronged ones when they happened 
to return suddenly and caught the pilferers in the 
act. 

But the great entertainment was in the later 
spring, when the mothers were sitting close, when 
even a short absence was impossible except in the 

* Rooks are always so called in Scotland. 


IG 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


warmest moment of the warmest days, and when 
they testified their delight as their husbands 
appeared in sight, bringing a much needed supply 
of grubs in throat-pouches well distended. The 
hen birds of many other species can, when hatching, 
do a little feeding for themselves at intervals. Flies 
and other insects are ubiquitous, and good mouth- 
fuls can be caught during very short excursions 
from the nest. But the food of the crow has to be 
dug out from distant fields and pastures, and for 
this work the necessary time cannot be afforded by 
the hens. Yet the work of hatching involves a 
great expenditure of animal heat, which has to be 
sustained by corresponding supplies of food. Sit- 
ting crows, therefore, seem to be always desperately 
hungry, always on the look-out for the expected 
wings. Sometimes these come to them suddenly 
from an unlooked-for quarter, and then the joy of 
seeing their rapid sweep into the nest is raptu- 
rously and clamorously expressed. But occasionally 
the familiar winged-stroke, like a familiar step 
among ourselves, is seen from far, and the hen bird 
rises in the nest with fluttering wings to greet her 
still distant home-coming mate. It used to be one 
of my amusements to watch and calculate the dis- 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


17 


tances at which this domestic recognition could 
take place. Such was my occupation on the morn- 
ing above referred to, a lovely morning far on in 
April ; one of those mornings of a well-established 
spring, when the air is full of life, and the whole 
landscape breathes in sunlight. Far away over the 
tops of the trees the distant view ranged over the 
gleaming waters of the Solway to the hills of Cumber- 
land, which were as a faint blue shadow on the hori- 
zon. The peewit plovers were dashing through the 
air over every field in light. Perched in my favourite 
corner with a book upon my knee, I commanded the 
whole length of the workshop on the one side, and 
this glorious landscape on the other. 

Inside the room my father was finishing, at the 
rose-engine, one of his beautiful drinking cups made 
of West Indian nut; thin flakes of ivory, fine as 
gossamer, were curling off and falling from his tool, 
and a soft hissing sound seemed to express the al- 
most conscious perfection of a finished article. On 
turning to the other side, my eyes fell upon the 
patient birds sitting quietly among the green and 
scarlet openings of the young foliage of the syca- 
more. An old friend, whose nest was so near that I 

could almost touch it with a walking stick, had been 
2 


18 THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 

left unfed, as I had noticed, for rather an unusual 
length of time, and was sitting with her feathers 
rather in a bunch, with her bill resting on the sticks 
beside her, her eyes half shut, and what remained of 
them opened occasionally, winking at the sun. Sud- 
denly she jumped up with fluttering wings and im- 
patient cawings, and stood on the margin of the 
nest with her head lowered and her bill pointed 
straight down the glen towards the sunny south. 
This was the direction in which was the farthest 
uninterrupted view. I looked ; but there was no 
use in my looking. The whole air was full of hus- 
bands returning home to their expectant wives with 
fast and steady flight. But I had been early taught 
some of the methods and habits which belong to 
accurate observation. Taking out my watch, I 
counted as closely as I could the number of seconds 
which elapsed between the sudden awakening of my 
hungry friend and the actual arrival of her mate. 
One — two — three — and so on till about 20 ticks of 
the second-hand of the watch had sounded, when 
the food-bringer dashed into the branches and was 
almost embraced and covered by his wife’s enrap- 
tured wings. The calculation was easy. A crow 
flies, when at full speed and on business bent, at the 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 19 

rate of at least 30 miles an hour. At this rate, one 
mile would be covered in two minutes or 120 seconds. 
Twenty seconds therefore represented at least one- 
sixth of a mile or a little over 276 yards. As I was 
conscious of having lost some seconds before I could 
begin to count, I exclaimed to my father : “ Oh, this 
time I am sure he must have been at least 300 yards 
off and in a whole crowd of other crows ! ” 

“ Well done Mrs. Towernest,” said my father, giving 
my favourite crow the name by which I always called 
her, “ Well done ! I am sure you would never have 
recognised me as far off, even if you had been very 
hungry, and if my pockets had been full of mutton 
chops ” 

At this moment, coming up through the open win- 
dows, the rapid trotting of a horse, and the sound 
of wheels on the gravel of the approach, arrested 
the attention of us both. Before I could gain the 
window which commanded the entrance of the house, 
the vehicle, whatever it was, had reached the front 
door, and nothing was visible to me except a part of 
two wheels, and some luggage strapped on behind. 
“ Look out,” said my father, “ who’s that ? ” 

“ I see nothing,” I reported, “ but part of a big 
black portmanteau with only the word ‘ Captain ’ in 


20 THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 

large white letters on a bit of it which is un- 
covered.” 

“ Captain ? ” said my father in great surprise ; 
“ who can it be ? Run to the hall,” he continued, 
“ and see what you can see.” 

The whole centre of the house was occupied by a 
hall, the survivor of an old one. This was sur- 
rounded by galleries off which the apartments 
opened ; the uppermost at the door of the workshop 
commanded the entrance. The front door bell had 
been rung, and an old soldier servant of my father’s, 
named McVicar, was issuing from a subterranean 
pantry, struggling to get his arms into a more 
seemly coat than that in which he had been at work. 
On his opening the door I could see a gig, and in it, 
seated deside the driver, there was a tall man, much 
muffled up in cloaks, with a hat pressed down upon 
his forehead : under the brim of this hat there pro- 
jected a long and strongly marked nose. The chin 
was retiring, so that the prominence of the upper 
organ was all the more accentuated. Long and 
bushy eyebrows hung over eyes which were small 
but sharp and penetrating. Fixing them on Mc- 
Vicar when he appeared at the door the stranger 
said : “ Is the Laird at home ? ” 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


21 


This question was put in such a voice as I had 
never heard and find it difficult to describe. It was 
not only a deep bass, hut a bass with a powerful me- 
tallic ring in it, like a note of the instrument called 
a trombone. It seemed to throw into vibration the 
whole air of a somewhat lofty hall : it made itself 
not only heard by the ear but felt by all the other 
members of the body, and especially by the stom- 
ach. Every cavity seemed to take up the reson- 
ance, and, as in the case of some of the deepest 
organ notes, a tremulous vibration was communi- 
cated even to the floors. Ri vetted by surprise to 
the spot on which I stood, my surprise was in an- 
other moment intensified by its effect upon my 
father. “ Hulloa, liulloa ! the Captain, the Cap- 
tain,” I heard him shouting in the workshop behind 
me, and the exclamation was followed by the noise 
of falling tools, as if in his surprise he had forgot- 
ten his usual careful handling of all his implements. 
On looking round and through the door of the turn- 
ing-room I saw the rose- engine running by itself at 
a furious rate, as though an unconscious kick on 
the pedal had accompanied the sudden abandon- 
ment of the work, whilst my father was rushing 
out to the gallery to meet and greet this, to me, 


22 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


mysterious stranger. By the time he had reached 
the door, the Captain had stepped down from the 
gig and was just entering the doorway when my 
father met him. Such a handshaking I had never 
seen, whilst the Captain’s face exhibited a new fea- 
ture. When he smiled the smile was on a mouth 
of unusual breadth, and exhibited a set of teeth 
perfect in their regularity and tremendous in their 
size and strength. They were such a set of teeth 
as answered to the description of being fit to “ bite 
the head off a nail.” “ Oh, Laird,” he kept repeat- 
ing in the same tremendous voice, as he shook my 
father’s hand with a shake which seemed as if it 
would never end. 

“ Captain,” said my father, 44 what on earth has 
brought you here so unbeknown : I thought you 
were in 4 Hindy ’ ? ” 

44 So I was, Laird,” said the Captain , 44 three months 
ago ; but you know, Laird, there is such a thing as 
the sea, and shipping, and I have come home by the 
Cape. It’s a sicht for sair een to see you again, and 
I thought I would just take you by surprise.” 

44 Well,” said my father , 44 that you have done with 
a vengeance ! I was never so surprised in my life as 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


23 


when I heard that tremendous voice of yours just 
now.” 

By this time the Captain had begun to peel off 
one after another the wraps in which he was swathed. 
“ Why, Captain,” said my father, “you are wrapped 
as if this lovely sunny morning were a day in 
mid- winter ! ” 

“ Sunny,” said the Captain, “ if you had been ten 
years in ‘ Hindy,’ as I have been, you would not call 
this sunny. It is nothing but a raw haze, and I feel 
almost chilled to the bone by a six-mile drive through 
what you call the sun. But, oh! Laird,” he con- 
tinued, in a contemplative tone of intense satisfac- 
tion, “ I’m glad to be back in the old country, and 
to see you, Laird, again, in the old home ! ” 

I had now time to take fuller observation of this 
mysterious Captain, when all his cloaks had been 
thrown off, and his comforters from round his throat, 
and when his hat had been last of all removed and 
deposited with his gloves on the table in the hall. 
He was above six foot in height, with long thin legs, 
rather knock-kneed ; his shoulders were sloping, his 
neck was long, and his brow high, leading up to a 
dome- shaped head, clad with long but scanty hair. 
Practically speaking he may be said to have had no 


24 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


chin at all. But the expression of weakness which 
this generally gives was effectually counteracted by 
the high intellectual development of the head, and 
by the calm and penetrating aspect of his eyes. 

His manner, too, was self-possessed and dignified. 
Very soon my father and he were both seated in 
the library, beside the fire; to which, and almost 
over which, the Captain was stretching two long 
and very narrow hands, which were as peculiar and 
distinctive as other parts of his singular figure. 
The library was — as it generally is in the country 
when it is habitually lived in — the pleasantest room 
in the house ; and the armchairs on each side of the 
fire were perfect homes for comfortable chat. It 
was not kept as a sanctum or as a study, but was 
always open to all the inmates. I stole quietly in, 
after a little while, and took my seat in a favourite 
corner where there was a special shelf of voyages, 
and whence, looking up instead of down, I could 
see my friends the crows, at least after they had 
lighted and begun their own conversation with each 
other. 

I had now time to see that the Captain was a 
much younger man than my father, who was then 
in middle life. They had evidently long been on 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


25 


the most intimate terms : each was constantly re- 
minding the other of some old incident of past years, 
and the Captain was asking numberless questions 
about persons and things for the most part unknown 
to me. But there was one peculiarity about the Cap- 
tain’s talk which arrested my attention. It was 
entirely free from any provincial accent, either Gaelic 
or Lowland Scotch, when he was, as it were, speak- 
ing in his own name ; but on the other hand he was 
perpetually introducing not only words but whole 
sentences in local dialects, either Highland or Low- 
land, as the case might be. Sometimes they seemed 
like quotations from old stories, or imitations from 
some well-known characters ; sometimes only to rep- 
resent his own feeling that whatever he was ex- 
pressing could be most pithily expressed in the lan- 
guage of the people. It was in this vein that, after 
a long and miscellaneous conversation on every con- 
ceivable subject, I heard the Captain say suddenly 
to my father : 

“ By the by, Laird, are there any fush in the 
ruwer ? ” 

“ Oh, well,” said my father, “ we must ask 
Willie about that ; I wonder where he is, you’ve 
not seen him yet.” 


26 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


On hearing this I emerged from my corner and 
appeared in sight. “ Oh, ho ! Is this your boy, 
Laird ? ” said the Captain, rising to greet me with a 
long extended hand, adding, “ How are you, my boy ? 
ye were a wee wean when I seed you last ; ” and he 
gave me a grasp which I have never since forgotten, 
— so hearty, and so painful was it, — all my fingers 
seemed crushed as in a vice. But the heartiness 
was also expressed in a kindly smile, and in such a 
curious but affectionate gaze, that in a moment I 
forgot the squeeze and was irresistibly drawn into 
sympathy with the stranger. 

“ Oh, Laird,” continued the Captain, turning to my 
father, “ what a wonderful likeness of your father, 
— his grandfather ! I never seed the match o’ it. 
Oh, oh ! how he brings back old days to me, Laird ! 
Well, my boy, can you tell me anything about the 
fushing? Are the grilse up yet? or are there any 
good sea trout ? ” 

“ They are just beginning to come up,” I replied, 
“ but I have caught none myself yet. There is one 
pool in the river where I think you would have a 
good chance.” 

“ What pool is that ? ” asked the Captain. 

“ Oh,” I said, “ it is a pool we call the Ash-tree 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 27 

pool ; I should like so much to show you the way 
to it.” 

44 Show me the way to it ! ” rejoined the Captain, 
giving me a friendly clap on the hack, and adding 
with a hearty laugh : “ Why, my hoy, I could go to 
it in the dark ! Many’s the 4 saumont ’ I have taken 
out of it before you were horn ! But won’t we have 
fun in fishing it together now?” added the Captain 
with such a hearty voice and such a hearty clap, 
that he quite won my heart ; and it was agreed that 
next day, after he had got out what he called his 
“ gear,” or in other words, after he had unpacked 
his rods and flies, we should have a day together on 
the river. 

Next morning accordingly, the Captain had got 
ready such 44 gear ” as I had never seen. In passing 
through London he had equipped himself with a 
most beautiful rod, with a collection of flies tied by 
an Irishman of the name of Evatt, who, the Captain 
informed me, was the most perfect artist he knew. 
I gazed at them with wonder and admiration, such 
combinations did they exhibit of golden pheasant, of 
the Indian jungle fowl, of drake’s wing, of green and 
purple mohair, with gold and silver thread exqui- 
sitely twisted, and so tightly that it seemed able to 


28 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


stand any amount of wear and tear. In the interests 
of the gentle art, and for the benefit of any one 
who may ever hope to fish in the Douglas water of 
Strathgled, I may say that the wings of one fly were 
of drake’s feather, the body was dark blue with 
silver twist ; another had a tail of golden pheasant 
hackle unlike anything carried by any fly in the 
world, but which the “saumont,” as the Captain 
called them, seemed to consider quite irresistible 
when they would take anything at all. 

The Captain put up his rod with the utmost care, 
the joints adjusted so that the rings on each were 
exactly in a line with each other, and the line was re- 
wound upon the reel, so as to prevent the possibility 
of kinking, or being entangled in a knot. The 
casting line was selected so as to suit the fulness 
or fineness of the water, respecting which he cross- 
questioned me as to the amount of recent rains. 
Then, choosing a fly, which I at once recognised as 
corresponding in size and colour to the ruder speci- 
mens I used to get from Carlisle or Dumfries, and 
as just the very best for the season and the state of 
the water, the Captain, after careful stretching of the 
gut, hooked it on the upper bar of his reel, shouldered 
his rod, and broke out with his long legs into a sort 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


29 


of shambling jump or dance, shouting “ Hurrah ! it’s 
fifteen years since I have had a salmon rod in my 
hand, and oh! Willie,” (addressing me for the first 
time by my name,) “ won’t we have fun to-day ? ” 

“ Fifteen years ” seemed an age to me, as it went 
hack two years before my own birth, and made me 
look with some awe on one whose memory was so 
fresh of events which were to me so distant. But 
on the other hand I felt instinctively that the Cap- 
tain was even more of a boy than I was. His glee, 
his look of intense enjoyment, his constant exclama- 
tions of delight, his bursts of hearty laughter about, 
apparently, nothing, were all childlike. I did not 
then know what it is to be once more at home among 
the familiar scenes of youth after a long residence in a 
foreign, and especially in a hot, climate. But his 
spirits were contagious, and so we raced together 
down a steep path which led under the trees of the 
rookery to the meadow through which the river 
wound. Ere we reached it we had to pass a bank 
of daffodils which were just bursting into full flower, 
and which threw the Captain into an ecstasy of de- 
light. “ Oh ! me, me ! ” he exclaimed, “ just as I left 
them fifteen long years ago ! I declare, I think they 
have been in perpetual bloom ever since.” 


80 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


Passing through this bank of daffodils, we soon 
reached the river, which we at once saw to he in first- 
rate order for careful fishing. It was not foaming 
or racing as rivers do after heavy rain — a state in 
which it might be fished in the rougher water by 
the most unskilful fisherman — hut it was distinctly 
“ raised ” ; with all its shallows sharpened, and all its 
deeps dimpled with an ampler current. Looking up 
the Strath, its rapids were reflecting the sky in a deep 
purple blue, whilst looking downward and south- 
ward, they were sparkling like a thousand diamonds, 
and melting into pools of a silver sheen. There was 
no taint in the water, but just a slight tinge of a 
rich yellow brown, clear as crystal, from the far-off 
peaty hollows in which the ram had fallen. 

“ Oh ! she’ll fush the day,” said the Captain, with 
the glance of a well-trained eye, “ hut she’ll need fine 
taickle and fine casting.” 

Saying this, he at once began to wet and to 
straighten his line, by casting it into some rough 
shallow water, a process which he continued for 
some time until the whole of it was thoroughly soft 
and stretched. A few minutes’ farther walk, down 
the meadow rich with young daisies and bursting 
buttercups, brought us to the Ash-tree pool, where 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


31 


the Captain at once began to fish it. His ait was 
perfect. His line shot out from his rod straight as 
an arrow, and fell on the water with such lightness 
that even at the smoothest parts its fall was hardly 
visible. He began with a short line at the throat of 
the pool : every inch of the water being carefully tried, 
but with not more than two casts. Where the pool 
became less rippled and long tracks of foam- bubbles 
began to appear, the line was lengthened, and it fell 
soft as a snowflake among them. The corners of an 
eddy near the opposite bank were carefully searched 
by such beautifully accurate casts that the fly seemed 
always to light exactly on the spots where a “ fush ” 
would lie. At one point, but only for a moment, 
there glanced out underneath the surface a rapid 
silvery gleam. 

“ There he is,” shouted the Captain, “ but a very 
shy rise. Now I’ll give him time ; ” and casting the 
line far behind him, he let it fall on the fragrant 
grass, and then, throwing himself down upon the 
bank, he said : 

“ I’ll gie him five minutes’ rest.” 

“ Surely,” said I, “ that is a long time.” 

“ No, it is not,” replied the Captain, and then he 
proceeded to explain : “ If you get a keen rise in a 


32 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


high water, yon may cast over him again in one or 
two minutes, and have as good a chance as by wait- 
ing half an hour ; but if you have a very shy rise hi 
a low water such as this, you must give him time 
to forget all about it, and to have nothing remaining 
in his fishy mind except the vaguest sense of expecta- 
tion. Now mind that, my boy ! it will be a wrinkle 
for ye in the noble art of fly fishing.” 

The five minutes were spent by the Captain in 
gathering all the daisies he could reach. No child of 
a few years old, brought out of a London alley, where 
it never saw anything more than the dirty pave- 
ment, could have been so intent on this occupation 
as this very long and very full grown man, with his 
stately manners and his military bearing. The 
operation was accompanied by an inward chuckle of 
delight, — like that of a cat, or rather like that of a 
tiger purring — and by a few broken whispers of 
“ Oh ! me, me ! ” 

Long before the five minutes had elapsed, he 
had gathered a large bunch which he proceeded to 
bind together in the approved manner with stalks 
of grass. With amusement and impatience con- 
tending in my mind, I at last ventured to say : 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 33 

“Now, Captain, I think yon may leave your daisies 
and try the saumont .” 

“ None of your sauce, you young hound,” said the 
Captain with just a touch of real irritation in his 
voice, “ if you had been as long away from the sight 
of daisies as I have been, — more than the whole of 
your little life — you would not have thought it a 
bad -diversion to gather them. Oh ! me, me ! ” 

Then, gathering up his long straggling arms and 
legs into a most wonderful complicated knot beneath 
him, the Captain rose with a jerk to his full height; 
stooped again to pick up his rod, and striding the 
two steps which alone separated him from the river, 
he looked into the stream with a close and steady 
gaze. The water was falling rapidly, even a few 
minutes made differences visible to an accustomed 
eye. Bubbles which had before taken one route be- 
gan to swerve into another : wrinkles and lines of 
current which had roughened the water here and 
there were becoming erased, and were melting away 
into surfaces smooth and shining. The Captain be- 
gan to cast some way above where the fish had risen. 

“ You,” he said, with some emphasis on the word, 
“ you, would cast your fly just where he rose before, 

but an old fisherman like me knows better.” 

3 


34 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


Then followed some casts which were lovely to 
an angler’s eye. The line fell like a gossamer some 
distance np the stream, the fly reaching the water 
not only above but beyond the spot, so that, as the 
fall of the rod told upon its course, it swept gently 
and diagonally across the stream. Each new cast 
repeated the operation till the sweep of the fly passed 
smoothly and naturally a few inches above the 
spot where the fish had lain. Again the glance of a 
silver gleam, vague and subaqueous, yet clear enough 
to shine to our bank, announced that the “ fush ” 
had again risen, but had again also shied the lure. 

“ No chance of him again to-night,” said the Cap- 
tain, and at once began to reel up his line ; but 
added, half to himself, half to me, “ there is no more 
chance to-day, except in the Saughie Hole ; have you 
tried that pool yet this year ? ” 

“ The Saughie Hole,” I replied, “ I never heard 
of it.” 

“Ye never heard tell of the Saughie Hole ! you 
that were born and bred up on this Douglas water ! 
Well, well, that beats a’ ! ” replied the Captain with 
scorn in his eye. “ Well,” he continued, “ I’ll tell you 
about it. About a quarter of a mile below us, where 
the water is running thin and clear, it enters rather 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


85 


a deep hole on this hank, where an old saugh* used 
to grow. When the water is high or rising, no fish 
ever rests in it, they are bent on pushing on. But 
when the water is falling, as it is now, they do rest 
in it, — and many’s the good 4 fush’ I hae ta’en oot 
o 1 it.” 

Just a little piqued by the Captain’s superior 
knowledge of my native river, and also not a little 
incredulous about this new 44 hole,” I said : 

44 Well, Captain, will you try the hole, and let me 
try for a dish of trout in the water you have already 
fished ? ” 

44 By all means, my boy ; I daresay you’ll beat me, 
at least in numbers.” Whereupon he stalked off 
down the stream, whilst I began in the pool beside 
us, and fished carefully for trout. They were rising 
freely, and in a few minutes I had basketed some 
half dozen and was carefully approaching water 
where I knew the bigger ones habitually lay, when I 
observed the Captain stop, unreel his line, stand well 
back from the bank, and prepare apparently for fish- 
ing with a short line as close as possible to the bank 
on which he stood. Just at that moment I hooked a 

* Scotch for willow — doubtless the same root as the Latin 
salix. 


36 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


good sea-trout of about three pounds’ weight, the 
fish which above all others gives the finest sport to 
a light rod and fine tackle. I had been thus engaged 
about a couple of minutes, when I was dreadfully 
startled by a noise coming from the direction of the 
Captain such as I had never heard before. It was 
something between a shout and a bellow and a roar, 
ending in a fearful yell. Panic-stricken, I could only 
think of a description which I had been lately read- 
ing of the fiendish noises by which the rudest 
savages have sometimes carried dismay and disorder 
into the ranks of a civilised army. My next thought 
was that the Captain must have fallen into the river 
and was shouting for help ; so, throwing down my 
rod and abandoning my beautiful trout, I rushed off 
down the stream, hearing, as I left, my own reel 
ringing with a corresponding rush of my derelict fish. 
My alarm was increased by not seeing the Captain, 
and was only relieved when, after running some 
hundred yards, I saw him come out from behind a 
bush, and saw also from his attitude that he was 
what anglers call “ giving him the butt ” to some 
heavy fish. Three tremendous leaps out of the 
water, performed in rapid succession, revealed a 
large salmon, all gleaming in the silver sheen of a 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


37 


fresh run fish, and fighting for his life against the 
hook and strain of line in which he had become so 
suddenly entangled. With every fresh leap the 
Captain greeted him with the yelling shout of ex- 
citement which had struck such panic into me ; but 
by the time I reached him, both these creatures had 
settled down to the steady tug-of-war, the violent 
rushes of the fish being met by the free running of 
the line, accompanied by the noise with which no 
music may compare to the angler’s ear. 

“ Mount my clip,” shouted the Captain to me as I 
approached, “ you’ll find it telescoped up on the 
bank opposite the pool, the c Saughie Hole,’ which 
you knew nothing of, you guddah ! ” * 

Suffice it to say that, after some splendid sport 
and the most dexterous management, a beautiful 
salmon of about 12 pounds was brought exhausted 
to the surface, and within easy reach. I clipped 
him with success, but the operation led to convul- 
sive struggles which made it a difficult and danger- 
ous operation to lift him up rather a steep bank. It 
was only accomplished by aid of the Captain, who, 
when the fish was fairly extended on the grass, 
broke out once more into the same cries as before, 
* Indian word for a goose, or foolish person. 


38 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


but accompanied this time by repeated wavings of 
his bonnet round his head, as high as his long arms 
could lift it. 

“ Now, my boy,” said the Captain, when these 
transports had subsided, “ do you keep a journal.” 

This was a home question to me, for as a matter 
of fact I did keep a journal, but very secretly, for I 
was very shy about it, never wrote in it except when 
quite alone, and had it hidden in a drawer of which 
I kept the key. It was chiefly a journal about birds 
and beasts, — what company the gold crests and 
creepers and the blue tits kept in their winter flocks, 
— what the cole tits did when searching on the 
ground, — all the doings of my favourite crows in the 
nesting season, of their occasional assembling in the 
winter, and of the preluding visits in the early 
spring. Somewhat startled by the Captain’s ques- 
tion, I replied : 

“Well, sometimes I put down what I see out of 
doors.” 

“ Well,” said the Captain, “ you’ll put down for to- 
day two things you will never forget, if you live to 
the age of Methuselah ! the first is that you have 
seen the first salmon taken out of the Saughie Hole 
— and it’ll no be the last, I’m thinking ; — and the 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 39 

second is, that you have heard for the first time the 
war-cry of Badenoch ! ” 

“ Is that what you call the noises that you have 
been making now ? ” I asked. 

“ Noises ! ” said the Captain in a voice of thunder, 
“ noises indeed ! ye graceless loon ! Is that what ye 
call the slogan of my clan? Before I have done 
with you, I’ll teach ye better manners.” 

“ Then,” I said, laughing, but with just a little 
malice in my heart about the Saughie Hole, u Cap- 
tain, where’s Badenoch ? ” 

“ Where’s Badenoch ? ” repeated the Captain, “ hear 
tull him ! It’s my home in the Hielands, the country 
I come from, and there’s no a spot in all this driech 
county o’ Dumfries that can hold a candle to every 
nook and corner o’ Badenoch, forbye all that its clans 
hae sung in love, and hae done in war ! May be 
ye’ll see it some day, and then ye’ll never come back 
to the Solway. But come hame,” added the Captain, 
lifting his rod, and stooping to lift also the salmon 
by the gills. 

“ It’ll take us both to carry that salmon home 
comfortably,” I said; and, cutting a strong but 
supple twig from an alder bush, and passing it 
through the gills, we were soon on the road home, 


40 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


each of us carrying one end of the stick. On the 
way the Captain was in high spirits, full of 
anecdote, and full of words and phrases, some of 
which I at once recognised as taken from one or 
another of my father’s ample store of Highland 
stories. 

“ I see,” I said at last, rather shyly, 44 that you 
know a whole lot of my father’s tales of your coun- 
try ; do you know at all where he got them ? for I 
never heard him say that he had been there himself.” 

44 No,” said the Captain, 44 1 don’t know; and I 
never asked, because I know there is some mystery 
on the subject. There was one old woman I 
recollect in this place when I first came here, who 
was supposed to know something about it ; but she 
must be dead and gone long ago.” 

44 Who was that ? ” I asked, C4 do you remember 
her name?” 

44 Well,” replied the Captain, 44 1 do remember; it 
was such a strange one ; but it won’t help you much 
to know it, for she must be in the kirkyard now. It 
was Nelly Leggy.” 

44 Nelly Leggy ! ” I rejoined with great astonish- 
ment, 44 she is alive and well. I was speaking to her 
only yesterday. She keeps our poultry yard.” 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 41 

“ Nonsense,” said the Captain, “ you don’t mean 
that ! ” 

a Oh, yes ! I do mean it,” I replied ; “ let us go 
home by her cottage, it is not three hundred yards out 
of our way.” So, after picking up my own rod, we 
left our path, and striking up the brae through a little 
screen of wood, we were soon at the poultry yard, 
and found the old woman as usual, busy with her 
chickens inside a yard fenced with young larch 
poles nailed as closely together as they could be 
placed. 

“ Well, Nelly,” said the Captain, “ hoo’s a’ Avi’ ye ? 
I’m glad to see you again. It’s a while since we twa 
hae met.” 

The old woman, who stooped much, had some 
difficulty in raising her face to the proper angle, to 
enable her to see her questioner; but when she 
succeeded in this manoeuvre, she eyed him closely, 
and then stretching out two very skinny arms 
she exclaimed : 

“ Gude guide us — if it’s no the Captain ! ” 

“ It’s just him,” I said. 

“ Whaur i’ the warld hae ye been sin’ we seed ye 
here ? ” 


42 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


“ I’ve been in Hindy, Nelly ; did you ever hear o’ 
that kintray ? ” 

“ Is na yon the place that they tell me a’ oor fools 
cam frae, first o’ a’ ? ” 

“ The very place,” said the Captain. 

“Eh, weel,” replied Nelly, “it maun be a gran’ 
place yon, whaur the verra wuds are fu’ o’ 
chuckens ! ” 

“Now, Nelly,” I interrupted, “will you give us 
a cup of your tea, and one of your ain bannocks ? 
for I’ve tellt the Captain that naebody bakes 
bannocks like you ? ” 

We were soon seated in a tidy little room, well 
supplied with excellent tea and bannocks, warm and 
toasted, from the fire. It will have been gathered 
from what has been already said, that Nelly was a 
“ character.” As such she was well known all over 
the country side. She was an old maid, a tremen- 
dous gossip ; and her weakness was to be credited 
with knowing everything about everybody for the 
last half century at least. The Captain, recollecting 
this, brought the conversation gradually round from 
Highland drovers passing into England by Carlisle 
with long herds of cattle, to the subject of Highland- 
ers in general, and Highland stories in particular. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


43 


Nelly shared that extreme dislike of the whole High- 
land race which was at one time ingrained and 
hereditary in the Lowlands ; due to the tradition of 
the sufferings which that race had inflicted upon 
adjacent “ Sassenachs ” during many centuries. 

“ They’re a wild folk,” she said, shaking her old 
head viciously, hut at the same time with just a 
manifest touch of fear and awe ; “ ye canna lippen* 
on a word they say ; and they’re that cunnin’ an’ fair 
spoken- like, that, for a’ ye ken that weel, ye canna 
hut believe them when they’re foment ye! And 
then, gudesake ! wlia awfu’ tales they tell o’ ghaists, 
an’ warlocks, an’ o’ veesions that they ca’ second 
sicht ! It’s just fearfu’ to hear them ; and the warst 
o’ it is that what they say comes true, ay, ower 
aften ! I whiles think, — the Lord forgie me ! — but 
I canna help it, that they hae traffic wi’ them that 
they su’dna.” 

“ Nelly,” said I, laughing, “ div ye no ken that the 
Captain’s a Hielander himsel’ ? ” 

“Hoot toot,” replied Nelly with spirit, “the Cap- 
tain should na speer o’ me, — and naebody need speer 
o’ me, that does na wish to hear the truth.” 

“Well done, Nelly,” said the Captain, “I like a 
*To “iippen ” means to trust, to believe. 


44 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


body that sticks to what she’s said. I am a Ilie- 
lander ; but I ken fine the faults o’ my ain country- 
men, though I’m no sae very sure that their second 
sight is one of them. But, Nelly,” added the Cap- 
tain, seeing that Nelly’s roughened feathers were 
smoothing down like those on one of her own cocks, 
“how came it that oor Laird’s sae fu’ o’ Hieland 
stories? He micht hae been a Hielander himseP, 
he cracks sae weel aboot them. They tell me it was 
some old nurse he had when he was a boy that tell’t 
him a’ thae tales.” 

“ Wha tell’t ye that? ” said Nelly, with her quick 
little eyes glancing at the Captain’s face. 

“Well, Nelly,” replied the Captain, “I’m no sure 
that it was na your ain sel’, the last time I was 
here.” 

This reply seemed at once to conciliate Nelly ; and 
she said in a low, half- musing voice : 

“ Weel, it’s no like it was onybody else. It’s saxty 
year, come June next, sin’ I came here wi’ my fai- 
ther, when I was but a wee lassie ; an’ o’ a’ the folks 
that were abjot the tco:i then, there’s no a leevin’ 
soul noo.” 

“And did ye see her yoursel’?” pursued the 
Captain, hearing the more placable and confidential 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 45 

tones which had now crept into the naturally loud 
and strident voice of the old woman. 

“ Ay, did I,” replied Nelly ; “ an’ them that seed 
her are no like to forget her. She was an awfu’ 
wumman yon ! ” 

“ Awfu’,” said the Captain, “ why was she awfu’ ? ” 

Nelly looked behind her to see that the door of 
her little room was shut, and that not even one of 
her own hens could hear her. Then, resuming the 
conversation in a low tone, subdued and almost 
tremulous, she said, as if she had already gone too 
far : “ Ye may na’ think I’m speaking ill o’ the 

wumman when I said she was awfu ’ ! I was but 
young when I seed her; but, twa or three times 
afore she gaed awa’, she frichtet me that sair, the 
vera luik o’ her, that, I mind weel, I ran off to the 
wud that’s ahint the hen hoose, an’ cooered doon 
amang the scartin’ places o’ the chuckens aneth the 
busses.” 

“What frichtet ye, Nelly?” said the Captain; 
“ was she so ill-looking or so crosslike that ye feared 
she wad gie ye a skelpin’ ? ” 

“ It was na that, Captain,” said Nelly ; “ the wum- 
man was fair spoken, an’ weel luikin’. She had lang 
hair, as black as the raven’s wing. It hung doon 


46 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


maist to the sash she had roond her middle : an’ div 
ye ken, Captain, whan the sun glinted on it there 
came a glamour oot o’ it, like the glamour o’ the sun 
on the Solway when the cloods are broken efter 
thun’er. Mony’s the day I hae seen that shimmer 
on the sea ; an’ mony’s the day I hae said to mysel’ 
— ' ‘By a’ the warld, that’s jist like the shine I mind 
sae weel on Elspie MacGregor’s hair ! ’ ” 

“ Was that her name ? ” interrupted the Captain ; 
“ well, I never heard that before.” 

“Weel, Captain, I’m no sure that I meant to tell 
ye her name, for it’s lang sin’ it’s passed my mooth ; 
but ye see it jist cam oot whan I was tellin’ ye what 
it was that sae frichtet me when I was a wean. But 
it was na her hair, an’ it was na her voice, for I 
heard her speak to my faither ae day, an’ she was 
douce an’ freendly like in a’ she said. But it was 
her gran’ luik. She micht hae been a queen, jist aff 
o’ her throne ; an’ whan she luiket at me, I jist felt 
as if she luiket me a’ through, an’ seed somethin’ or 
somebody ahint me. Never sin’ syne hae I seen a 
glower like yon ! But the Lord forgie me,” said 
Nelly, after a moment’s pause, “ if I say onything 
ill o’ that wumman — for the neist time I seed her I 
wasna frichtet ; for the young laird — him that’s oor 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


47 


ain Laird noo, but was a wee boy then — was wi’ her 
that time ; an’ it was bonnie to see hoo he spieled 
up aboot her an’ held her haun’ an’ kissed her, jist like 
ane o’ my ain chucks wi’ it’s ain mither. Eh ! she 
was an awfu’ wumman, but she was a gran’ wumman, 
tae. I’ll never see her like again ! But it’s you, 
Captain, that’s garred me speak o’ her, this day ; 
for I dinna like it, an’ the Laird, he disna like it ; 
an’ there’s naebody but mysel’ an’ him that has ony 
mind o’ her.” 

“ Well,” said the Captain, “ what became o’ her ? ” 
“ Eh,” said Nelly, “ naebody kens that. The Lord 
only knows ! ” 

“What do you mean, Nelly?” said the Captain; 
“ you don’t mean that this gran’ woman was lifted 
like Elijah frae the earth ! ” 

“Ye dinna think, Captain,” said Nelly, “ that I 
wad tell ye siccan a lee as yon ! But I’ll tell ye 
what I ken, an’ it’s nae much to tell. Thae Hieland 
weemen ye see are awfu’ prood. They say that we 
low country folk hae nae mainners ; an’ when we 
say to them what we say till oor ain folk, they get 
a’ up in a low * jist in wan moment. Something 
gaed wrang at the castle ; naebody kens what ; an’ 


* In a flame. 


48 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


the aulcl Laird said something that Elspie wad na 
thole. Weel, the neist mornin’ Elspie was na to be 
seen. The auld Laird was awfu’ pit aboot ; an’ the 
wee boy he grat even furrit, till he was maist deid 
wi’ grief. At first the auld Laird was feared that 
the wumman had pitten hersel’ in the watter ; an’ 
he had jist gi’en orders for a’ the pools to be 
dragged wi’ men. But some ane cam’ up frae the 
kitchen an’ said that Elspie had ta’en awa’ a sma’ 
bit o’ a kebbuck cheese an’ had left twa shillin’s on 
the dresser as valey for’t. An’ the auld Laird he 
stoppit the search i’ the watter ; for he said the 
takin’ o’ the cheese maun hae been to keep her leevin’ 
amang the hills, while she wad tramp it hame. 
4 The wild hawk’s fleed back till her ain nest ’ were 
the words he used.” 

Old Nelly now folded her hands upon her knees 
in token that her tale was done, looking at the same 
time both cunning and important. 

“Well,” said the Captain, “ Nelly, I think ye’re 
an awfu’ wumman yoursel’ — kennin’ such a lot o’ 
things that ither folk dinna ken. But I’ve a strong 
suspicion, Nelly, that ye ken mair nor ye hae tell’t 
us yet. Ye see this is no desert country that such 
a wumman as ye describe could be speerited awa’ 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


49 


without being seen by somebody. Did naebody see 
her sittin’ under a dyke eatin’ a bit o’ the kebbuck 
that ye hae tell’t us o’ ? ” 

“ Hoot awa,” said Nelly, with some assumed indig- 
nation, “ ye dinna ken thae Hielanders as I ken 
them. They’ll jist lie doon i’ the bracken or the 
heather, row their plaid aboot them an’ sleep half 
the day an’ the haill nicht ; an’ ye micht pass by 
them on thae hills within a wheen few yairds, and 
never see them frae the grey stanes, nae mair nor 
ye can see a muirfowl* when it’s at your verra feet. 
Hech! but wi’ your leave, Captain, they’re awfu’ 
craturs ! and they’re that consaitet ! Ye ken, 
Captain, — tho’ ye dinna speak it yoursel’, God be 
thanket, — ye ken that fearful lingo that they speak 
— weel, ye’ll no believe me maybe, but it’s as sure 
as deith — ane o’ thae Hielan’ drovers tell’t me to my 
face ae day, up on the ro’d yonner, that his lingo 
was what Adam spak in Paradeese ! ‘Was it,’ 
says I, ‘ then I’m wae for Eve,’ — an’ I left him wi’ 
his mooth open i’ the middle o’ his beasts ! ” 

“ Well but, Nelly,” said the Captain, laughing 
heartily at the old woman’s spite towards his coun- 


* Grouse. 

4 


50 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


try men, “ ye surely dinna think that, if Adam spoke 
Gaelic, his wife would na speak it too ? ” 

u Ay, div I,” replied Nelly, with heat. “God 
Almighty wad surely never mak’ twa craturs to 
speak yon lingo ! Na, na, if she ever spak it, she 
maun hae been garred by her man ! I ken better 
whaur the Gaelic came frae. It was jist frae the 
confusion o’ tongues at the toor o’ Babel ; an’ a 
bonnie confusion it is ! ” Nelly’s wrath being now 
apparently satisfied, the Captain resumed his in- 
quiries. 

“ Well, well, Nelly, ye’ll never tell me that the 
very last sight seen o’ Elspie MacGregor was the 
night afore she gaed awa’, and nae glint o’ siccan a 
gran’ wumman was ever seen again. Come, now, 
Nelly, ye ken rnair nor ye hae tell’t us ! ” 

“ Ivennin’,” said Nelly, “ is ae thing, an’ tellin’s 
anither, but I’ll jist tell ye this. It may hae been 
aboot a month efter the ca’-through at the castle, 
there cam’ a Hielan’ packman on a pownie frae the 
north ; an’ I mind him cornin’ to my faither’s door, 
the verra door that’s noo ahint me ; an’ he had a 
bonnie pack, an’ he unpacket it at the door, an’ I 
mind weel — for I was a wee thing then — I was 
awfu’ ta’enup wi’ the bonnie things I seed in yon 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


51 


pack ; an’ my mither she bocht some needles, an’ 
my faither he bocht a wee kame an’ some sweeties 
that he gied to me. Ye see we were but puir folk, 
an’ my faither hadna siller to spend on whigmalee- 
ries. But the cadger seemed a raal dacent man ; an’ 
my faither was ’maist black affrontet to see him 
unpack amaist a’ he had to show till us. So my 
faither asket him in to tak’ a cup o’ tea an’ some 
taties that were doin’ f or oor denner. Weel, ye see, 
the cadger was sittin’ jist whaur ye’re sittin’ noo, 
Captain, when my faither tell’t him o’ the wumman 
that fleed awa’ no four days gane by. 4 What like 
was she ? ’ said the cadger to my faither ; an’ my 
faither he jist tell’t what I hae tell’t ye this day. 
Says he : 4 She w r as a heich wumman, raal lang i’ 
the leg, wi’ black hair that was aye bangin’ amaist 
doon till her waist, an’ a kin’ o’ gran’ luik aboot 
her.’ 

“ 4 Gude sakes,’ said the cadger, 4 then I hae seed 
her ! ’ an’ wi’ that he brocht his haun’ doon wi’ a 
thud on the table that garred it shake. 

44 4 Ye’re no tellin’ me that,’ said my faither ; 4 an’ 
whaur in a’ the warld did ye see her ? ” 

44 4 Weel,’ said the cadger, wi’ a scared luik in his 
face, 4 I’ll tell ye. Ye see I hae to come an awfu’ 


52 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


wild ro’d cornin’ frae the watter o’ Clyde doon to 
this kintray. Ye may say it’s no a ro’d ava’, hut 
jist a kin’ o’ track ower the taps o’ the hulls ; an’ 
whiles it’s maist lost a’thegither in the heather 
an’ brackens. But I hae kent it this mony a year 
an’ I hae a douce beast o’ a pownie that kens it as 
weel as mysel’. We — that’s me an’ my pownie — 
had stertet early i’* the mornin’, for we had a lang 
tramp afore us, — like aboot five o’clock ; an’ aboot 
sax we were heich amang the muirs in a wild fog 
that cam’ on. The ro’d was alang a steep brae, wi’ 
a deep glen on oor left haun’. Weel ! a’ on a sud- 
dent my sheltie gied the awfu’est loup aff the ro’d 
to the richt haun’, an’ pricket baith his ears, an’ gied 
blaws thro’ his nose, jist as gin he had seen some 
wild beast. I luiket a’ roond, but I could see 
naething but a grey stane on a wee bit o’ heather 
knowe aside the ro’d ; but the wild luik o’ the puir 
sheltie feared me, an’ my verra hert cam’ a’ up into 
my mooth, maist o’ a’ when I seed the grey stane, 
as I thocht it was, begin to warstle an’ move as if it 
was a leevin’ cratur ; an’ then, afore I could get my 
breith, the grey stane stood up on twa legs, an’ I 
seed an awfu’-like wumman wi’ her twa hauns 
lowsin’ like the plaid that had been ower her heid 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


53 


an’ ower her haill body. At first I thocht it was a 
wraith, or a witch or onything else that’s no canny, 
but syne I seed that she had a wee bundle beside 
her on the rnuir, an’ I seed her lift it, lootin doon to 
grip it ; an’ long black hair fell oot o’ the plaid that 
was ower her heid. Then I seed it was a raal 
wumman, an’ I thocht she was gaun to tak’ the ro’d 
an’ come by us. But insteed o’ that, she jist steppit 
a3i*oss it an’ set aff walkin’ at the awfullest pace 
richt up the face a’ the hull — gaun due north as 
straicht as the whaup* flees. By this time I had 
gotten my breith again ; an’, as there was something 
aboot her that gied me the notion o’ a Hieland wife, 
I thocht it wad be ceevil to speak, so says I, speakin’ 
lood in the Gaelic, “ it’s a driech cauld morn, gude- 
wife ! ” Weel, she jist stalket on an’ ne’er gied me 
back a word, though I seed fine she understood 
what I said, for she kin’ o’ stertet whan she heard 
the Gaelic, and gied a wee bit sprachle wi’ her haun’, 
as meikle as to say, “ I hae nae time to haver wi’ 
the likes o’ you ! ” Weel, I gaed on ; an’ in aboot 
half an oor the fog cleared aff, an’ I luikit back up 
the hulls the way she went, jist to see if I could see 
onything o’ her. An’ sure eneuch, on the sky line 


* The curlew. 


54 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


on the verra tap o’ the heichesthull atween this an’ 
Clydeside, I seed the wumman, mair like a cairn than 
a body. Noo,’ added the cadger, 4 yon mann hae 
been the wumman ye speak o’. I niver seed naebody 
else the like o’ her ; an’ she was gaun straicht i’ the 
line frae this kin tray to Cly deside.’ 

44 4 It was the verra wumman,’ said my faither. 
That’s jist what he said,” added Nelly, and resumed 
her favourite attitude, with her two hands crossed 
in front of her knees ; an attitude of great self-satis- 
faction, in expectation of the compliments due, and 
generally given, by those who listened to Nelly’s 
yarns. 

To my great surprise, the Captain, though evi- 
dently much interested and listening with all his 
ears, did not seem satisfied that he had yet heard all 
that Nelly knew. Resuming, therefore, his leading 
questions, and addressing himself to Nelly’s foibles, 
he said, after a pause: 44 Well, Nelly, ye tell thae 
stories extraordinar’ weel. I feel like as it was a 
dreip o’ cauld watter r inn in’ doon a’ my back — jist 
as if I was staunnin’ under the pump when ye gie 
yer chickens a drink ! But somehow, Nelly, I hae 
a kin’ o’ suspeecion that ye ken mair yet, that nae- 
body else kens ; an’ I’ll no be satisfied till I hae it 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 55 

oot wi’ ye, for it’s no every day a body meets wi’ 
the likes o’ you at the story tellin’.” 

“Hoot, Captain,” replied Nelly, “ ye’re an awfu’ 
man at the speerin’ ; but ye see, Captain, there’s a 
wheen things that it’s no lawfu’ to speak o’ ; an’ 
thae’s jist the kin’ o’ things that I ken a wee bit o’, 
farder, aboot Elspie MacGregor.” 

“ I thocht that,” said the Captain, u but ye ken fine 
that what ye tell is safe wi’ me, for I’ll never let on 
I heered it.” 

Nelly now turned again to the door behind her, 
and then, rising from her seat, she said : 

“ I maun hae a luik doon the ro’d to see that nae- 
body’s even cornin’ oor way ! ” I rose too and went 
out with her to the door. The day had now settled 
into a lovely afternoon ; and there was a long vista 
of a winding gravel path which led through woods 
towards the castle. It was perfectly solitary. The 
air was full of crows going to, and returning from, 
their nests in their busy work of feeding the sitting 
wives. The copses were full of warbling, and the 
song of the skylark was ringing from the blue. 
Nelly was satisfied by her reconnaissance, and, re- 
turning to the room, she drew her stool still nearer 
to the Captain’s, then leaning her elbow on her knees 


56 


TllE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


and supporting her chin upon her hands, she began 
her further narrative. 

“Weel, ye see, Captain, my faither an’ mither 
cam’ themselves frae the heid watters o’ Clyde ; an’ 
I hae Men’s there to this day. Ane o’ my faith er’s 
Men’s was a shepherd, o’ the name o’ Davie Arm- 
strong, that lived in a verra lonesome cottage in the 
muirs o’ that kintray. He had chairge o’ a big 
hirsel* o’ sheep on a lairge fairm; an whiles he 
cam’ ower here wi’ a flock o’ wedders for the market 
at Carlisle. Weel, it was him that tell’t my 
faither what I’m noo gaun to tell you. Jist a few 
days efter the time that Elspie fleed awa’ — he didna 
mind the exact day, — there cam’ on some wild 
weather on thae muirs. On ane o’ thae days there 
was an awfu’ wunn’ an’ blashes o’ rain that garred 
a’ the burns come doon in flood. Davie was much 
taen up a’ that day wi’ his sheep, an’ especially wi’ 
the lambs, to see that nane o’ them had gotten intill 
heuchs an’ glens whaur they wad be droont ; an’ it 
was late an’ dark or ever he got hame. Weel, his 
wife, — a raal dacent wumman wi’ twa weans — had 
gotten ready for her gudeman some fine het parritch, 
an’ a fine bowl o’ potatoes. The weans had been 
* A definite portion of the stock. 


THE HIGHLAND NITBSE. 


57 


pitten intill their bed. An’ jist efter Davie had 
cam’ in, an’ cheenged a wee thing o’ his claes — for 
he was mair like a drookit hen than a body — they 
had sat doon to their meat, whan they heer’d a kin’ 
o’ rap at the door. 4 What can that be, Davie ? ’ 
said the wife, a wee feared-like. 4 Hoot, wumman,’ 
says Davie, 4 it’s jist the door rattlin’ wi’ the storm.’ 
Then cam’ anither rap that couldna be mista’en, an’ 
Davie rose, say in’ till bis wife, 4 Wha in a’ the warld 
can be oot on this lone muir in sic a nicht as this ? ’ 
Weel, Davie lifted the latch, and opened the door ; 
an’ jist as he pu’ed it till him, there cam’ the aw- 
fn’est flash o’ lightnin’ that ever he had seen. It 
was pitch dark an’ the rain draps were pourin’ aff 
the roof, shinin’ in the licht o’ the bit lamp he had 
in his haun’. But there was nae need to peer into 
the dark, for the flash o’ lightnin’ lichtet up a tall 
wumman, mair drookit than he had been himsel’, 
staunnin’ richt under the lintel o’ the door to get a 
wee bit oot o’ the drivin’ rain. 4 Will ye gie me a 
nicht’s shelter ? ’ said she to Davie in a raal douce 
voice, an’ haudin’ her plaid under her chin no to let 
the watter rin a’ doon her back. She was sic a gran’ 
like wumman that Davie was maist dumfoondered, 
an’ thocht she was a kin’ o’ leddy. So he flings 


58 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


open the door an’ says, 4 That will I, mem, ye’re wel- 
come, for it’s an awfu’ nicht ! ’ 4 Oh ! ’ says the wum- 
man, 4 it’s kind o’ ye ; but ye’re no to ca’ me “mem.” 
I’m a kintray wumman, like yer ain wife that I see 
there.’ Wi’ that, she steppit in an’ lowsed the plaid 
aff o’ her heid. 4 Man,’ said Davie to my faither, 
4 ye should hae seen the hair that fell oot ! It was 
that black, that the verra nicht, — even yon nicht, — 
was licht beside it, an’ it fell doon maist till her 
knees, an’ she was a lieich wumman. 4 Step hen,’ 
says 1, 4 ye’ll find the wife, an’ we had jist sat doon 
till a wee hit supper, an’ we’re glad to see ye join 
us ! ’ The wife noo steppit f urrit, an’ asket the wum- 
man to set hersel doon, an’ gied her a plate o’ het 
parritch wi’ milk. Jist then the wumman spied the 
weans that were no far aff i’ the bed. She loupet 
up, ran to the side o’ the bed, an’ stuid as straicht 
as a rash* glowerin’ doon at the weans. Then she 
crossed her hauns afore her, an’ luiket up, for a’ the 
warld as gin she had been praying ; an’ syne she 
luikit doon again an’ said in as sweet a voice as ever 
ye heard, 4 The wee lambs ! ’ an’ we could see she 
was greetin’ ; hut she goupit her sorrow doon, an’ 
sair was it till her to do it, we could see that. An’ 
* A rush. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


59 


wi’ that she turned roond an’ sat hersel’ doon whare 
the wife had pitten her at the first, an’ she took her 
meat wi’ us an’ cracket that couthie for a’ her big 
gran’ luiks, that we baith took a gran’ conceat o’ 
her ; but neither o’ us daured to ax her whaurever 
she cam’ frae, or was gaun till ower thae muirs in 
sic a nicht ; for ye wad jist hae thocht she was a 
queen, she was that gran’ like — an’ she put by ony 
wee speerin’s we did mak, jist as if she had never 
heard them. Neist the wife was obleeged to tell her 
that we had nae bed to gie her, but that the gude- 
man wad gie some raal clean strae that he had for 
the kye, in a wee ben. Wi’ that I gaed to the ben 
an’ brocht oot a gran’ armfu’ o’ clean strae. I spread 
it oot in ae corner o’ the room, for ye see we had 
but the ane to oorsels an’ the weans. 4 Thank ye 
kindly,’ said the wumman, 4 mony’s the nicht I hae 
spent in my ain kintray, on a harder bed nor that. 
May the Lord bless an’ keep ye baith for the kind- 
ness ye hae shown to me this nicht ; ’ an’ wi’ that 
she lay doon ; an’ the lamp was pit oot ; an’ we a’ 
sleepit soond, tho’ the storm was roarin’ awfu’ on 
the ootside. Weel, at the first glint o’ licht that 
cam’ in the mornin’, my gudewife lookit oot to see 
hoo the wumman was, an’ seed that she was gaen, 


60 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


— her corner was empy!’ An’ noo,” said Nelly, 
coming close up to the Captain and almost whisper- 
ing as though she was afraid to speak what she was 
about to say, “ Davie threepit a’ his days that the 
strae that the wummanhad lain on. was a’ burnt up, 
an’ naething o’ it was left, but a wheen white ashes ; 
an’ Davie aye said that if there had been any low 
or smoke i’ the nicht he maun hae waukened, for he 
was a licht sleeper. c It was nae earthly fire that 
burnt yon strae,’ said Davie, when he tell’t my 
faither o’ that awful nicht. 

“It’s gruesome, Captain, to think o’,” added Nelly ; 
“ but I’m tellin’ ye what Davie Armstrong aye said 
to his dyin’ day ; an’ he’s been deid an’ buriet noo 
lang syne.” Nelly now composed herself in an atti- 
tude which expressed the complete exhaustion of 
her subject ; and, after a pause, she nodded to the 
Captain, and, taking a metaphor from her own hens, 
she said emphatically, “Noo, my crap’s empy ! ” 

The Captain, after many laudatory remarks ad- 
dressed to Nelly, rose ; and we two, picking up our 
salmon which had been hanging on a bush, walked 
down the path to the castle. Deeply interested as 
I had been by Nelly’s story, I came away less satis- 
fied than the Captain, who had evidently heard be- 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 61 

fore some outlines of the events narrated. What 
troubled me was a discrepancy between dim recol- 
lections of the name I had once heard given to the 
nurse, and the name assigned to her by Nelly. I 
could not recall the name I had heard, but I was 
quite certain it was not Elspie. Both ears and eyes 
were concerned in my dim recollection. Not only 
did the name “ Elspie ” fail to correspond with the 
rhythm of the name as I remembered it ; but I rec- 
ollected also having seen it written, and the length 
of it was as different to the eye as the sound of it to 
the ear. 

An old smoking-room in the castle had held, ranged 
upon its walls when I was a child, a series of very 
rough portraits ; and among them was one which I 
was told represented the nurse. They had all been 
destroyed by a fire when I was still very young. I 
had a very dim recollection of the face ; but I did 
recollect a name written in queer, long letters near 
the lower edge of the frame : this name also, I was 
quite sure, could not have represented “Elspie.” 
But I racked my brain to no purpose in trying to 
recall the syllables ; so I gave it up, and thought no 
more about it. 

As soon as we reached the front door, the Captain 


62 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


suddenly broke out with the “ War Cry of Badenoch.” 
As nobody in the castle except my father had ever 
heard that fiendish yell, every room in the castle 
that had an inmate had its window represented by 
a protruded head and face expressive of curiosity 
and alarm. But the most extraordinary effect was 
upon the crows. They all rose from their nests in 
the greatest alarm, just as if a gun had been fired 
underneath their trees. Never was there such a 
loud and tumultuous flapping of wings in the rookery 
of Strathgled. The air was black with the poor birds 
passing and repassing overhead to reconnoitre and 
see what new enemy had appeared near their usually 
peaceful homes. My father’s head soon appeared at 
a window near his workshop shouting, “ Oh, you ras- 
cally Captain, I heard your skirl coming up the glen 
hours ago ; but I’ll forgive you if you have brought 
a good fresh fish for dinner, with the curd in it. 
Tell the cook to dress it at once.” 

The Captain lived with us nearly a month, during 
which he and I were inseparable companions in all 
out-of-door occupations. I was captivated by his 
unfailing cheerfulness and good humour, by his anec- 
dotes of Indian life, as well as by his sage counsels 
on all subjects of practical conduct. Not less was 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


63 


I amused by his strange peculiarities. He had 
some nickname for everybody he knew ; generally 
some form of word taken from Highland or Lowland 
provincialisms indifferently. Thus, he was very 
fond of Shakespeare and often quoted him, but 
always under the name of “Wullum” (William). 
His sticks were peculiar — rather of the bludgeon 
type — but always of some tree growing on some 
celebrated site which he had visited in his travels. 
To each stick he gave a personal name derived from 
any historical character associated with the spot. 
Thus, a bludgeon cut from the Coliseum at Home, 
was always respectfully spoken of as Titus. Another 
from the olives near Athens had the name of Plato. 
Another cut near the Great Falls was called Niagara. 

But although constantly using provincialisms both 
in pronunciation and in structure, when not using 
them, but speaking English, he was not only a strict 
grammarian but he had a special antipathy to the 
slipshod colloquialisms which are very common. 
“ Who are you speaking of ? ” I used sometimes to 
say, as others do. But the bad grammar was in- 
variably followed by a voice of thunder, “ Whom are 
you speaking of? I suppose you mean,” adding 
sometimes in the broadest Scotch, “that’s fulthy 


64 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


English indeed ! Let me never hear ye say that 
again ! ” 

Among indifferent company he became strangely 
stiff and formal in his manners, speaking always the 
most accurate grammar, and delighting to make his 
interlocutors feel when they had transgressed. 

Another peculiarity was a strange habit of reg- 
ulating his own movements by a variety of anni- 
versary dates ; and to my great sorrow, this habit 
brought his visit to an end on the 18th June, the 
date of the battle of Waterloo, beyond which nothing 
could induce him to prolong it. We parted, agree- 
ing to correspond regularly. 

I must now ask my readers to pass with me over 
the long period of nearly thirty years, during which 
I have nothing to record which touches the special 
subject of this narrative. The Captain returned to 
India, and had there attained a high position in the 
service of that great company which founded, and 
long managed our Indian Empire. My father had 
died ; and I had succeeded him, leading very much 
the same country life — planting, draining, and in- 
closing land, so that cultivation gradually climbed 
up the slopes of the neighbouring hills. 

The whole elder generation, and even a large pro- 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


65 


portion of those who were in middle life at the time 
of my past narrative, had passed away. Old Nelly 
had long been gathered to her fathers ; although she 
had continued to feed and to rear our chickens, and 
to entertain the neighbours with her old stories, 
till she was nearly ninety years of age. 

About the period I have indicated, I one day 
received a letter from “the Captain,” long since 
risen to the rank of Lieut. -Colonel, informing me 
that, by the unforeseen death, in rapid succession, 
of several intervening heirs, he had become pro- 
prietor of a considerable estate in the Western High- 
lands, the name of which was Achnashee ; and that 
he meant soon to return home to spend the remain- 
der of his days in retirement, now much needed from 
the long continued effects of an Indian climate upon 
almost every European constitution. 

He “ trvsted me,” as he called it, to meet him by 
paying him a visit as soon as he should be settled 
at his new home. It was, however, more than a 
year before I could arrange for the “ tryst ” : not 
till the month of August in the year following that 
in which he had taken possession. I found the Col- 
onel greatly changed in the outward man, but hardly 

changed at all in any of his old ways. He now grew 
5 


66 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


a profuse beard, which still more effectually con- 
cealed his want of chin, and which, under his 
expressive upper features, and under a high- domed 
head, almost bald, with long but scanty grey hair 
still fringing its lower regions, gave additional 
dignity to his aspect. 

In talk he was as young as ever ; full of his old 
jokes, which were, indeed, perennial with him, and 
of which he never seemed to tire. He asked me 
many questions about his old friends at Stran- 
gled, including the workmen and tenants whose 
cottages or houses we had visited together. Not 
realising the lapse of time in the freshness of his 
memory, and looking across the monotony of his 
Indian life, he always seemed surprised as, one after 
another, he heard that all his older friends were 
gone. “ Hech surse!” he used to exclaim, “Man 
wants but little here below, nor wants that little 
long,” a favourite quotation with him on many occa- 
sions. I had to remind him that a period of thirty 
years makes, as a rule, a clean sweep of all who 
were elderly when it began, a very large sweep 
of those who were middle-aged, and leaves but 
a moderate percentage, even of those who were 
young. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 67 

“It’s ower true,” said the Colonel in one of his 
low but deepest intonations. 

The Colonel’s new home was in a beautiful coun- 
try. The house was near the mouth of a fine 
Highland glen which ran up some seven miles into 
the mountains from an arm of the sea, near the 
shore of which the house was built. The slopes 
were steep without being precipitous, and they 
were clothed with that natural wild wood of birch, 
ash, alder, and hazel, of which there are so few 
remains in the Highlands. There is no planting 
like that of nature ; the variety of outline in the 
edging of the natural woods, the lines which run up 
the courses of the little torrents, and the vacant 
spaces at irregular intervals, — all of which show the 
same feathery margins, with lanes, alleys, and em- 
bayments among the surrounding thickets — all these 
are invariably missed in artificial planting. A fine 
fresh- water lake occupied the bed of the glen for 
some three miles. Out of this lake there flowed an 
exquisite little river, winding through fields of 
pasture, “now rushing in foamy waterbrooks, now 
loitering in glassy pool.” Both in the river and in the 
lake, there was excellent salmon and sea- trout fishing. 

/ The Colonel, who had become somewhat frail in his 


68 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


legs, preferred fishing in the lake from a boat ; and 
often returned with splendid baskets. Some fort- 
night or so had passed of my visit to my old friend, 
when one day he said to me, “ Now, Laird, I can’t 
go with you ; but if you would like, for a change, to 
have some moor-loch fishing, they tell me that on 
this estate, about seven miles down the loch, there 
are some small lochans with very fine trout. If you 
would like to fish them, I’ll give you a dog-cart, 
with my keeper, David Johnston, and by starting 
early you can have the whole day on the hills and 
be back to dinner.” 

I jumped at this proposal ; and accordingly my 
little expedition was arranged for the following 
morning. Taking a light rod, light tackle, and suit- 
able flies, I was off early on a lovely morning in the 
first days of August. The drive lay at first along 
the margin of the sea loch, and then turned off into a 
parallel valley which was wild and comparatively 
little wooded I had already discovered that the 
keeper David Johnston, who was a native of Fife, 
was a good deal of a character, and was inspired 
just like my early friend, Nelly Leggy, with a great 
dislike of the Gaelic-speaking population. He was 
a man, however, of unusually refined manners for 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


69 


his class, and never spoke otherwise than courteously 
when he addressed the natives. His observations 
were not the less keen and fluent when they were 
out of hearing. Soon after we had turned off the 
shore road into the other valley, we came to a gate 
with a cottage beside it. David gave a shout, which 
was the accustomed signal to the inmates who had 
charge of the gate that it was to be opened. There 
was no reply and no movement. The shout had to 
be repeated not once but several times before a 
woman appeared, tying on a very dirty apron and 
moving very slowly through rather an abundant 
midden which lay near the door, and spread itself 
with but little constraint in front of it. When she 
had opened the gate with extreme slowness, and we 
had passed, David turned to me and said: “Did 
ever ye see siccan a cockiebendie o’ a cratur ? She 
maun hae heard me fine frae the first ; but they’re 
that lazy, they wunna steer as lang as they can help 
it ; an’ did ye no see the midden, a’ rinnin’ about the 
verra doorstep, when ane o’ thae weemen or even a 
laddie wi’ a besom wad clean it aff, an’ a wee bit 
liftin’ o’ the stanes wad keep it frae seepin’* like 
yon.” 


* Soaking. 


70 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


“ Well, David,” I replied, “ the Highlanders have 
their faults ; but do you not think that you Lowland 
folks have some faults, just to keep them company ? ” 
“ Oo’, I’se warrant ! ” said David shortly, with that 
ready confession of general sinfulness which we all 
make, and with the same readiness to deny every 
peccadillo in particular. It closed David’s mouth, 
however, for some distance, although we passed 
some people and some houses which lent themselves 
to observation. But when we came near a small 
patch of arable land where some men and women 
were by way of digging potatoes, David could stand 
it no longer. “ Jist look at the craturs,” he said, “ do 
ye see hoo the tae half o’ them are staunnin’ wi’ 
their haun’s i’ their pockets, an’ hoo the tither half 
are haun’lin’ the graip jist as if it burnt their fingers ? 
And then, Gude sakes ! wull ye see to their aits ! — 
there’s mair weeds nor corn, — an’ the crap will be 
maistly a crap o’ thae yellow gowans* Well, sir, I 
can tell ye this : oor new Laird, that’s your friend 
the Colonel, he has gied me a bit grand for my ain 
’taties ; — oo ! it’s no the quarter o’ an acre, — an,’ as I 
didna need it a’ for the ’taties, I thocht I wad jist 
pit in something else ; so I diggit a wee corner o’ it 


* Daisies. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


71 


wi’ a spade, like 18 inches deep ; — an’ I’ll assure ye, 
sir, that I had mair fine aits* aft* that wee bit than 
thae craturs will hae aff twa o’ their acres, an’ mair. 
An’ forby that, when the aits was aff, early in the 
season, I had time to pit in some vegetables that 
cam’ on fine afore the end o’ the year — an’ they cam’ 
in handy for the coo i’ the winter.” 

“ Ye’re quite right, David,” I said ; “ the cultiva- 
tion of small crofts in the Hielands is generally very 
had ; and your spade cultivation would heat it hol- 
low. But you must mind, you come from the low 
country, and you have seen the new ways which the 
Lairds and the large farmers brought in. ‘ But it’s 
not so long, David, since all the folks in the low 
country were just as behindhand as these High- 
landers are now. A hundred years ago the low 
country was just as full of them you call ‘puir 
craturs’ as the Highlands are till this day; and 
very often there was famine in the land when an 
extra bad season came.” 

“Weel,”said David, “ I didna ken that; but it 
wad tak’ a heap o’ Lairds, an’ a heap o’ big fairmers 
to teach thae bodies ony thing o’ the kin’. ” By this 
time we had passed out of sight of the ’tatie diggers, 


* Oats. 


72 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


and of the crop of yellow gowans, and David’s 
tongue again became silent. Presently we came to 
a deep ravine with a brawling stream in it, feath- 
ered, in all its sudden banks, with birch trees and 
the lovely rowan, laden with berries just beginning 
to assume the rich scarlet of their perfect ripeness. 
The ravine was crossed by a curious and very nar- 
row stone bridge, which was twisted in the middle 
so as to present a most undesirable winding, con- 
sidering the very low parapet which alone separated 
us from a precipice over which the stream fell in a 
foaming cascade. David informed me that it bore 
the name of the “ Roman Bridge ” — a curious tes- 
timony to the tradition which long attributed all 
works of unknown origin to the Romans, although 
nothing could be more absolutely different from 
anything like Roman work. On crossing the bridge, 
I found we were close to a “ clachan — a cluster 
of thatched cottages and outhouses after the approved 
manner of a Highland crofting township. The cot- 
tages were built at all angles to the slope of the hill ; 
some across the declivity, some down it, and some 
obliquefy. There were no built chimneys ; and I 
observed that the smoke was curling in most cases 
* Village. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


73 


out of some orifice in the middle of the roof. Through 
the clachan a grassy path struck off up the hill, 
being evidently a peat road, giving access to the 
mosses and muirs upon the upper levels of the 
country. David drove at once into the clachan, 
unyoked his horse, and took it into a rough shelter 
which could hardly be called a stable, where a little 
boy took charge of it, and engaged to give it a feed 
of hay. David, now pointing to the winding path, 
said to me : “ That’s oor ro’d ; an’ a gey steep ro’d it 
is, but it’s dry ; an’ it’ll be an’ ’oor’s walking till we 
are at the first o’ the muir-lochs.” 

I was delighted with the walk and the scenery. 
Our way led up a hill, grassy, but also heathery in 
parts, till at the top of it we saw below us a deep 
hollow, and in front another hill wholly different in 
aspect. It was rough and precipitous, apparently of 
granite. In the hollow lay a small lake, which was 
the first of a series we met with in the course of the 
day. Over each ridge in succession and under each 
opposing front, lay always some one or two little 
lochs, sometimes a chain of them, either opening into 
each other or separated only by little distances of 
heathy or rocky knolls. This was entirely new hill 
scenery to me. In the Southern or Border Highlands 


74 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


the hills are large, rounded, and not divided into 
sharp or narrow ridges. There are a few mountain 
lakes in the southern hills ; but they are large and lie 
in larger and wider depressions. This multitude of 
little lakelets or u lochans,” as they are locally called, 
was caused by hill forms of a totally different char- 
acter, — as if it were by the irregular tumblings in, 
and unequal subsidences, of the earth’s crust. The 
fishing was delightful of its kind. Each little loch 
seemed to have a breed of trout peculiar to itself. 
I at once noticed the extraordinary difference 
between them, even when — as was often the case — 
they were close together. There was a like differ- 
ence in the aspect of each loch. Some were shad- 
owed by little precipices, and apparently deep, 
with rocky edges : some were in peaty and heathery 
but shallow hollows where they glittered in the sun 
and were ruffled by every breeze ; some had lovely 
little bays of white or reddish sand or gravel ; 
whilst in others the tall stalks of old heather 
drooped into the water from steep little banks of 
moss. Some were starred with the most beautiful 
beds of water lily, carpeted with enormous leaves, 
and radiant with its incomparable flowers ; some had 
beds of reeds only at one end, and none elsewhere, 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


75 


whilst in all of them the little rings of rising trout, 
when the breezes failed, showed them to be alive 
with fish. Trout, either silvery with black spots or 
yellow with red spots, or so silvery all over as to be 
almost like sea trout, soon filled and more than filled 
my basket. The utter solitude of those lovely 
moors and rock hollows, broken only by the bleat of 
a sheep ; the sweetness of the air laden with the 
fragrance of the bog myrtle and of the heather in 
full bloom ; the excellence and the novelty of the 
sport ; all combined to make it a delightful day. 
When it was getting well on in the afternoon, and 
we had sat down to rest, I said to David : “ Now, is 
there any good loch within easy reach that I could 
try before going home?” “Yes,” he said; “there’s 
a wee loch they ca’ Loch na Shee, that has bonnie 
troot, but it’s up ower yon hill heid,” pointing to a 
very steep, rocky ridge above us — “ an’ a wee bit 
ayont it. It’s the heichest o’ a’ oor lochs.” 

“ I must see it,” I said to David ; and we 
started at once. On gaining the crest of the ridge, 
a new world seemed to open before me. I found it 
to be the summit level of a long tract of mountain, 
which ran parallel with the sea loch, and separated 
it from the shores of the open western ocean. I 


76 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


call it open because there were wide openings which 
gave access to the broad Atlantic, and the pulse of 
its mighty swell could be seen and felt upon rocky 
shores and in a thousand bays and creeks which 
were protected from the direct action of its waves. 
But it was not “open” in the sense of presenting one 
unbroken horizon. Islands or islets of every size 
and form lay before me, separated by gleaming 
tracts of sea ; whilst, on the furthest range of 
sight, the grand horizontal line of ocean was inter- 
rupted only by a few tracts of the faintest and 
purest blue, coming as it might seem from some 
islands of the blessed. 

The mountains on which we stood sloped steeply 
down through some lower hills to the shores of this 
sea, which, though it was a calm day, was breaking 
in white foam on rocky promontories and on sunny 
bays. When this view burst upon me I stood trans- 
fixed, gazing as if I could not be satisfied with its 
beauty. 

“ The wee lochan,” said David, “ is no a quarter 
o’ a mile farder on,” pointing to a hollow a little be- 
yond and below us. I then observed that the ridge 
on which I stood was divided into two parallel lines 
by a cleft which shallowed gradually towards our 


/X 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


77 


right hand, until it ended in a union of the two 
about a mile off. The farthest division of the ridge 
ended abruptly in a steep face immediately in front 
of our position, leaving its companion ridge on 
which we stood to pursue its course to the south- 
west. Down the long hollow trickled a little 
stream until it fell into a deep, cup-like depression 
just under the sudden termination of one of its con- 
taining walls. On advancing to our own side of this 
depression, the little lake was opened up, lying en- 
sconced between the ridges, and sending out its sur- 
plus waters through a small stream which suddenly 
had to tumble over a precipitous bank in a series of 
continuous waterfalls. The opposite bank was a 
steep “ scaur ” of broken and fallen rock, with here 
and there a few stunted bushes of birch, and, close 
to the edge of the water, some bushes of the “ saugh ” 
or mountain willow. A rich bed of water lilies lay 
along that shore, whilst the shore next to us was 
clear and rocky. The pasture of the ridge on which 
we stood was strangely green and rich, considering 
its elevation, and contrasted strongly with the rough 
heather and rocks of the opposite bank. I noticed, 
too, that the pasture was disposed in ring-shaped 
spaces, the centre of which was occupied by young 


78 


THE HIGH LAND NURSE . 


and very beautiful tufts of heather in full bloom. 
Presently I noticed farther that on this fine pasture 
and down the slope towards the little stream the 
turf was marked with the almost vanished remains of 
small circular and oblong enclosures, as if of ancient 
huts. Some of these were mere superficial markings 
affecting only the colour of the grass ; others were 
more distinct in slight elevations of the turf. All of 
them suggested some form of human habitation, 
whilst the smallness of the enclosed area told that 

this habitation could have been nothing but sleeping 

* 

places, some rude protection from the weather. Not 
caring to fish any more myself, and wishing to have 
some quiet minutes alone in this enchanting spot, 
with its vast prospect in the distance and its traces 
at my feet of some phase of human life long passed 
away, T sent David down the steep bank to get a 
few specimens of the trout ; and, sitting on the top 
of the bank, I let my eye wander from an horizon of 
immeasurable space to the tiny dimples made by the 
rising fish in the lake below me. 

Then suddenly it burst upon me what the human 
interest was which added such pathos and intensity 
to the charms of nature. I was sitting within the 
area of an old “ shieling,” which represented all 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


7 ;> 


that existed, in the rural life of the middle ages, of 
rustic poetry and peace. It existed everywhere ; but 
it survived longest in the Highlands. Cattle, with 
only a very few sheep and some goats, were the 
whole stock of the people. Wolves and foxes 
infested the mountains, and all domestic animals had 
to be herded and protected. Only during some two 
months of midsummer could this be done on the 
higher hills, which, for at least nine months in the 
year, were thus left desolate, their immense surfaces 
of forage useless to man. But in those two months 
there was an exodus to the uplands, where often 
there were little tracts of pasture especially rich in 
milk and meat- producing grasses. There, among 
knolls dry from natural drainage, the whole village 
population, male and female, old and young, migrated 
from the hovels and from the patches of scanty corn, 
to enjoy the midsummer with their cattle on the 
hills. The life was for the most part an out-door 
life ; but sleeping shelters at least for the women 
and children were a necessity, and every little en- 
closure I saw around me was a relic of that far-off 
time when all the banks and braes around me rang 
with the singing of mothers and the joyous shouts 
of the bairns, while all the beasts browsed around. 


80 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


It was the custom of a poor and ignorant and waste- 
ful time when the resources of the country were 
wholly undeveloped and when years of famine and 
distress were common. But, like other half-civilised 
conditions, it had some incidents which were happy 
and many which were picturesque. I knew that 
the same custom had prevailed in my own southern 
hills, only at a remoter time; but I gazed with a 
curious interest on the traces of its survival down 
to a date which was evidently much more recent. 

“ David,” I said, on my companion’s return to me 
with a few lovely trout, “ how on earth can the trout 
here have ever got into this loch, or, indeed, into any 
of the others ? They can’t have come up the burns, 
for they are all waterfalls.” 

“ ’Deed, sir,” said David, “ mony’s the time I hae 
wondered at that ; I haena a notion ! Some says it 
was the auld monks ; but that maun be nonsense. 
Some says it was what they ca^ the fairies ; but I 
never seed a fairy in my life, an’ I dinna believe in 
them. But div ye ken, sir, that this loch is ca’ed in 
Gaelic the c Fairies’ Loch ’ ? It’s a’ the clavers o’ 
thae Hielanders ! they’re jist fu’ o’ a’ that kin’ o’ 
nonsense.” 

“ Who told you that ? ” I asked. 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


81 


“ Oo,” said David, “ there’s a heap o’ auld folks, an’ 
some young anes as should ken better, that I’ve heard 
speaking aboot it. Thae green rings ye see in the 
grass is whaur they say the fairies dance at nicht. 
But I never gie ony heed to sic clash ; it’s no worth 
a body’s while.” 

“ David,” I said, looking at my watch, “ it’s time 
we were down the hill ; let us be off.” 

It does not take long to run down hill some 1,500 
feet ; but after a long day’s work it tries the knees, 
and when we reached the clachan I confess I was 
both hot and tired. 

“ David, do you think I can get a drink of milk at 
any of these cottages?” I asked. 

u Fine ! ” was the curt reply, and he pointed to the 
largest and nearest of the cottages that were smok- 
ing, as the one to go to. The sound of my footsteps 
as I reached the door aroused a tremendous barking 
of dogs from the inside, so that no knock could be 
heard. But doors in the Highlands are lightly 
barred. I therefore lifted the latch and stepped into 
the interior. I was instantly beset by some four or 
five collie dogs, who ran at my legs with bristling 
manes, stiffened tails, and a pandemonium of angry 

faarks and growls. I knew by experience that 
6 

1 


82 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


under such circumstances the only thing to do is to 
stand still, and to maintain as best one can an at- 
titude of perfect indifference and composure. Pres- 
ently I was somewhat relieved to see and hear a fat 
young woman shouting to the dogs from the other 
side of the interior, in tones and words of command 
and condemnation. “ Troosh ! troosh ! ” I heard 
repeated many times, together with words less 
articulate to my Lowland ear, but equally cap- 
able of expressing indignation if not execration. 
The names, too, of the rebellious dogs seemed to be 
represented by certain of the sounds : “ Troosh, Bo- 
tich ! ” “ Bousdhu, troosh ! ” but as the angry animals 
continued to surge round my legs with increasing 
excitement and fury, I was still further relieved to 
see the fat lassie seize one of the wooden rollers used 
for the spreading out of the dough or oatmeal into 
the form of cakes. With this formidable weapon 
she advanced upon her rebellious subjects, and I had 
soon the infinite satisfaction of seeing and hearing it 
brought down in well- delivered blows on the heads 
and backs of “Botich,” “Bousdhu,” and several 
others of their kindred. Under this heavy fire they 
began to waver, and were finally routed, taking 
refuge under the box beds which are, or were, the 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


83 


universal sleeping-places in cottages. Under these, 
through apparently impossible spaces and apertures, 
they crept out of sight, and then, turning round, lay 
with noses protruded on the floor still pointing to 
their enemy, growling and occasionally exposing to 
view the most beautiful and formidable arrays of 
teeth. 

When this deliverance had been finally effected I 
had time to look before me and around me. I found 
that I had entered a cottage of the oldest type, con- 
sisting of one room, with the fire burning in the 
middle of the floor, and the smoke curling up in blue 
clouds with, on the whole, wonderful precision to a 
circular aperture in the roof. The floor seemed to 
be of baked, hardened clay or soil, and, though un- 
even, presented a dry and not unpleasant surface. 
The beams and rafters which supported the roof 
were black and polished by the smoke. On a few 
lower beams of wood there hung some legs and ribs 
of salted braxy * mutton and a few kippered her- 
rings. At the farther side there was a wooden rack 
for plates and dishes of common pottery, and in front 
of it a rude table or dresser, at which the fat girl 

* A disease of sheep common in the Highlands, which does not 
.injuriously affect the meat. 


84 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


had been standing washing dishes, when my intru- 
sion and the dogs had interrupted her. On the other 
side of the central fire I could see at intervals through 
the wreaths of smoke which rose from some fresh 
peat recently put on, that there was an older woman 
sitting in a rough wooden chair, who seemed from 
her attitude to be ill or feeble. The fat girl, now 
standing triumphant over the dogs, had a pleasing 
expression of face, and, smiling an inarticulate wel- 
come, seemed to await my behests. Offering to 
shake hands with her, to which she responded very 
shyly, I said : “ Can you give me a drink of milk ? ” 
The sound of my voice, somewhat loud and distinct, 
in order to make my English as clear as possible to 
a Gaelic-speaking woman, seemed to reach the dogs 
in their retreat before it reached their mistress’s ear, 
and was instantly answered by a renewed outburst 
of growls and half- suppressed barks; moreover, the 
gnashing teeth which gleamed from under the nearest 
box bed were as beautiful as they were threatening. 

“ Troosh ! ” cried the fat girl again in the most 
screaming voice, “ Troosh ! ” and with that she made 
a dash with the wooden roller at the most inhospi- 
table of the noses which surrounded us. The nose, 
however, was so quickly and so completely with- 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


85 


drawn into inaccessible recesses, that the girl’s as- 
sault was ineffectual. Returning to me with a very 
courteous little curtsey she said, “ Cha’n’eil English 
agam,” — words to which I had learnt to attach the 
meaning “ I have no English,” — adding some other 
words which were quite unintelligible to me, but 
which were interpreted by gestures indicating that 
her elder companion beside the fire would be able to 
understand me. 

To get at this more learned lady it was necessary 
to reconnoitre. I could not walk straight through 
the fire to reach her on the other side ; to attempt 
to jump over it would hardly be dignified or respect- 
able, and I was uncertain whether it might not cost 
another explosion of canine wrath more justifiable 
than the last, and possibly more difficult to suppress. 

Round one side of the fire were certain stools and 
settles which impeded access on that flank ; and I 
soon perceived that in order to reach the only Eng- 
lish-speaking person in the cottage, I must make 
something of a circuit round the other end of the 
room and then turn back towards her chair. Pro- 
ceeding with this necessary manoeuvre, I had soon 
accomplished a sufficient section of the orbit round 
the centre of my attraction to be able to see the elder 


86 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


woman free from the volumes of peat-reek which 
had obscured her before. I found myself the object 
of a steady gaze out of eyes which seemed to express 
great astonishment, some alarm, and at the same 
time something of a curious wistfulness which might 
he the courteousness due to a hospitable reception. 
One circumstance about her gaze at once attracted 
my attention, and that was, that it travelled from 
my head to my feet, and mounted again from my 
feet to my head, and repeated this movement of 
elevation and depression with every step I took. 
On my approaching close to her chair, she rose from 
it slowly, supporting herself on a shepherd’s staff 
with a wonderful erozier-like crook at the top. 
Then, making a very slight curtsey, she raised the I 
hollow of her hand to her ear and leaned her head I 
sideways to my face, saying as she did so, “ What’s I 
your wull, sir ? ” 

Knowing the importance of slowness and great i 
distinctness in speaking English to Highlanders who I 
very seldom hear it, I replied in that manner : “ My 1 
gudewife, I have been fishing on your hill all day, I 
and I am a little thirsty : would you he so kind as 
to give me a drink of milk ? ” 

In speaking these words I noticed that each syl- 1 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


87 


lable as it reached her ear, seemed to strike her like 
a pistol shot. A very slight and involuntary start 
accompanied her reception of the sound. When the 
last of them had been spoken she let her hand fall 
slowly by her side, saying as she did so, “ Ye’ll get 
that,” in a tone which seemed to add plainer than 
any speech, “ and anything else that I can gie ye ! ” 
She then sat down and motioned to me to do the 
same on a wooden stool which was beside her. A 
few Gaelic words, undistinguishable to my ears as 
articulate sounds at all, sent the fat girl at once to 
the little store of crockery which stood above the 
dresser, whence I saw her take down a good-sized 
earthenware jug of apparently better quality than 
the rest, and then open and disappear through a 
door which I had not before observed. The opening 
of it, however, speadily revealed its function, which 
was, to constitute the only separation between the 
dwelling room of the family and the dwelling room 
of the cows. The odours and the breath of kine 
seemed to roll in and roll out again in the wreath 
of smoke. Meantime the woman turned to me with 
a kindly and almost confidential manner ; and I 
at once saw that she was familiar with English, 
or rather with Scotch-English, speaking it only with 


88 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


a very pleasing accent and intonation derived from 
Gaelic. 

“ An’ ye hae been ower oor hull,” she said, hold- 
ing up her hand to her ear to catch my reply. 

“ Yes, gudewife,” I said; u and a bonnie hill 
it is.” 

“Ye may weel say that,” she replied, “ there’s no 
a corner o’ it that I dinna ken ; an’ a bonnier hull 
there is no’ in a’ the country side. An’ ye wad see 
oor wee lochans ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ and fished a number of them.” 

“ An’ did ye see the ane at the very tap ? ” asked 
the woman. 

“ Indeed I did,” I answered ; “ I suppose you mean 
the lochan that they call the Fairies’ Loch.” 

“ Wha tell’t ye that ? ” asked the old woman. 

“ Oh,” I said, “ it was only the Laird’s keeper, 
David Johnson ; but he told me the name as a kind 
of joke, for he was laughing about it.” 

“ Oo ! ” said the woman, with an animation that 
was tinged with anger, “ thae low-kintray folk, 
they’re aye laughing at what they dinna understand. 
They think they ken a’ things i’ this warld an’ i’ 
the nuxt; an’ they believe in naething that they 
canna grip an’ haunle. But maybe,” she added in 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


89 


a tone of some contempt, “there’s jist a wee wheen 
o’ things that they clinna ken, an’ that it’ll ne’er be 
gien them to see.” 

“ But have yon seen any of these things yourself, 
gudewife?” I asked in a tone of sympathy. 

“ Me seen them ? ” echoed the woman in a tone of 
surprise at such a question, “ hae I no?” 

At this moment the fat lassie reappeared with 
her jug full of the richest warm milk, fresh from 
the cow, and foaming over the lip of the jug. A 
mug or beaker of the same pattern and manufact- 
ure was handed to me by the girl ; and never did I 
enjoy such a refreshing drink of milk. In returning 
the mug to the girl, I noticed a small, medallion-like 
space in the external pattern, with apparently some 
half faded letters in gilding, much rubbed off by 
cleaning. Rising it again so as to catch what light 
there was, I traced with some difficulty letters which 
seemed to form the word “ Ishabel .” 

In an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, the doors 
of memory were opened ; and out of those mysterious 
halls and chambers of which St. Augustine speaks, 
where the images of the past lie dormant, but not 
destroyed, there rose before me one of the dimmest 
recollections of my childhood. 


90 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


“ Isiiabel,” — that was the very name which in 
earlier years I had so often and so vainly endeavoured 
to recall ; that was the very name, with all its 
rhythm and its letters, which had haunted me when 
I heard Nelly Leggy call my father’s nurse by the 
name of Elspie. That was the phantom word which 
had so long dwelt vaguely in my mind whenever I 
recalled the old picture which had been destroyed 
by fire. 

Those faded gilt letters on the mug before me 
brought it all hack again as vividly as if the inter- 
vening years had been erased. In another second I 
found myself going through a calculation in mental 
arithmetic. My father had died 30 years ago. He 
was 70 at his death. Therefore the date of his boy- 
hood when he was 10 years of age, lay 90 years be- 
hind us. At that time, his nurse must have been at 
least 20 years of age, for she had been my grand- 
mother’s maid before she became her child’s nurse. 
Ninety and 20 made 110 years. This calculation 
rapidly made, disconcerted me ; and then it flashed 
upon me that Ishabel was evidently only a Gaelic 
form of Isabella, and was probably a name common 
in the Highlands. But was it possible that this 
woman was a daughter of Elspie MacGregor, of 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 91 

whose memory my own childhood had been so full ? 
All this passed through my mind with a rush. 

“Was that your mother’s name?” I asked my 
hostess, holding up the mug and pointing to the 
letters to explain my meaning. 

“ My mither’s name ? ” replied the woman, with 
a solemn shake of the head, “ och no ! it’s my ain 
name ; an’ has been these mair nor a hunder years 
gane by ! An’ I hae nae need to ask your name,” 
she added in a voice trembling with emotion. Then, 
laying a hand on each of my shoulders, and gazing 
into my face with a yearning look of a mother to a 
recovered child, she said in solemn tones : “ Ye’re 
Douglas of Strathgled ! ” 

Astonishment and bewilderment struck me for a 
moment dumb. Then recovering, I said : “ Gudewife, 
how can you possibly know me? I have never 
been in this country before; and if you are the 
Elspie MacGregor I heard of when I was a child, 
you must have left that country long before I was 
born.” 

“ How did I ken ye ? ” said Ishabel, repeating my 
question in a tone akin to scorn. “ Did I no’ ken ye 
when ye cam ower the door ? Did I no’ ken your 
build ? Did I no ken the way your head is set upon 


92 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


your shouthers ? Did I no’ ken your very step ? An’ 
abune a did I no’ ken your voice when ye asked the 
drink o’ mulk ? It was as if my auld maister your 
grandfaither had risen frae the grave. An’ forby 
a’ that, did I no’ hae a dream a few nights gane by, 
that tell’t me ye were cornin’, an’ that my auld een 
wad see the bairn o’ him that was my bairn, afore 
they’ve closed on this life ? Did I say it was a dream, 
Strathgled? Och ! och ! no, it was na that. For 
I was wide awake as I’m awake noo. It was nae 
dream ; but jist that ye cam’ into my thochts, and I 
had an eerie feelin’ that ye were near — a feelin’ that 
has been given to me twa or three times in byegane 
years, when they were cornin’ that had been lang 
awa’.” Saying this, she poured out on me all the 
forms of blessing that the Old Testament could sup- 
ply, during which I had a moment to seek for any 
signs of great age, which had escaped me at first ; 
and these signs were not wanting in the hands and 
arms which were stretched out towards me. They 
were skeletons, and the skin was so transparent that 
every vein was seen as blue as the distant mountains, 
whilst every bone and tendon made its presence 
visible. Her eyes were dark and vivacious, but with 
the white ring round the iris, which, however, I knew 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


93 


was not uncommon at a comparatively early age. A 
few locks of hair, as white as the driven snow, 
escaped down the side of her face and her neck, from 
under the “mutch” cap she wore. This was all 
that remained of the raven tresses which Nelly 
Leggy had so graphically described to the Colonel 
and myself, as the dream of her childhood some 
half century before that again. When Ishabel had 
poured out her very soul in all the benedictions of 
the patriarchs and prophets she leaned back in her 
chair and once more eyed me, from head to foot, 
with a look of intense interest and affection. Deeply 
moved, both by the old woman’s warm-heartedness 
and by the wonder and mystery of our encounter, I 
said, “ Well, Ishabel, it was indeed a happy chance 
that brought me here this evening.” 

“A happy chance!” interrupted Ishabel with 
vehemence, “ Och, och, Strathgled ! dinna use siccan 
a word as that. It w~as God’s wull ! an’ it was Hum 
that brocht ye, an’ nane ither ! an did He no’ send 
me a sign as I hae been tellin’ ye ? ” 

“ I do not doubt that, Ishabel,” I resumed, “ only 
that so far as my own knowledge and intentions 
went, this finding of Ishabel still in life is to me like 
meeting someone risen from the dead.” 


94 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


“ Och ! och ! ” replied the old woman, u but I am 
thankful this day.” 

“Well, Ishabel, it’s getting late now, and my old 
friend your new Laird will be waiting for me, and 
you know I have seven miles to get to Achnashee ; 
but it will not be long before 1 come back to see you, 
for I have much to say and much to ask.” 

With that I rose, kissed the old woman’s hand in 
token of the only benediction I could give, and re- 
turned to David, who had yoked the horses to the 
dog- cart, and had waited, evidently with some im- 
patience, for the termination of my drink of milk. 

On the way home I was absent and distracted, 
and only asked David one question : 

“ Do you know the auld wife that lives in the 
cottage you sent me to for the milk ? ” 

“ I hae heerd tell o’ her,” said David, “ but I hae 
never seen her. They say she’s a spae-wife ; an nae- 
body kens hoo auld she is ; a’body’s a wee fear’d o’ 
her ! ” 

I was somewhat late for dinner ; and, as one of 
the Colonel’s peculiarities was an almost morbid 
punctuality in all things, I found him just a little 
crusty, and speaking the best English, a sure sign 
with him of a dignified reserve. A full account, 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


95 


however, of the fine basket of trout which I had 
brought home, and of their different qualities, soon 
restored his equanimity ; and he began again to 
speak with familiar provincialisms interwoven. 

When the servant had left the room, and we two 
were left to some dried figs and claret, I determined 
to tell him as best I could of the adventure I had 
met with and of the discovery I had made. 

“ Colonel,” I said, “ do you remember our visit to 
old Nelly Leggy, thirty years ago, when first you 
came to Strathgled, in my boyhood ? ” 

“ Fine, that ! ” replied the Colonel. 

“ And do you remember,” I continued, “ the long 
yarns the old woman told us about a Highland nurse 
who had fled from the castle some half century before 
that, when my father was not more than ten years 
old ? ” 

“ ’Deed I do,” said the Colonel ; “ I mind especially 
the description old Nelly gave of the appearance of 
the nurse, and of her hair, and of the traces of her 
flight over the hills.” 

“ And do you remember that you seemed to have 
known something of that story before, and cross- 
questioned Nelly so as to draw her out ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said the Colonel, laughing, “ I had heard 


96 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


the story vaguely from an old tutor of your father’s 
who had left Strathgled before you were born, and 
had told it to me in outline, hut without Nelly’s 
havers about the woman having been a witch.” 

“ Well, Colonel,” I continued, “ would it astonish 
you if I had found some traces of that very High- 
land nurse on this same estate of your own ? ” 

“ Traces,” said the Colonel, “ what kind of traces 
do you mean ? I suppose you will be telling me 
that you have found some cinders or ashes, where 
she had been lying, as Nelly told us her bed of straw 
was burnt — of course by the Deil — when she left a 
shepherd’s cottage. Do you mind that, Laird ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t be so ironical, Colonel,” I replied, “ I 
mind well enough the nonsense that was mixed up 
with Nelly’s story; but I’ll astonish you yet with 
the facts I have found out.” 

“ What kind of facts, Laird?” said the Colonel. 
“Well,” I replied, “I’ll not beat about the bush 
any longer. I’ll simply tell you that I have found 
the woman, and that she is alive and well to this 
day, and moreover is one of your own tenants in the 
Clachan of Ivilkiaran.” 

The Colonel now gazed upon me with a look of 
inquiry which plainly asked if I were mad or chaff- 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 97 

in g. Settling it at last in his own mind he replied 
somewhat sharply : 

“Come, come, Laird, I’m too old a bird to be 
caught by such chaff as that. What the devil do 
you mean ? ” 

“ I mean, ” I said, “ my dear Colonel, exactly what 
I have said. Elspie MacGregor, as perhaps you 
recollect she was called by old Nelly, is alive now and 
is in one of the crofts on your township of Kilkiaran. 
I found her out by pure accident ; but from what 
she told me, I am as sure of what I am telling you 
as I am that I am talking to you now.” 

“ My dear boy,” said the Colonel, addressing me as 
he occasionally did, as he used to address me thirty 
years before, u just think for a moment what non- 
sense you are talking. It is 31 years since you and 
I heard the story from old Nelly : it was then a story 
more than half a century old, that makes at least 81 
years, and the nurse must have been between 20 and 
30 years of age at the time of her flight, for she was 
maid to your grandmother before she was nurse to 
her children ; so that the woman, if alive now, must 
be at the very least between 110 and 120 years old.” 

“ Well, Colonel,” I rejoined, “ have you never heard 

of instances of such an age ? ” 

7 


98 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


“ Ah, bah ! ” said the Colonel, a phrase which was 
his usual retort when argument seemed useless. 

“ Well, well, Colonel ! I have only two favours to 
ask of you : one is to lend me your dog-cart again 
to take me back to Kilkiaran Clachan to-morrow 
morning, and the second is, to give me another driver, 
and not your keeper, David.” 

“ Certainly,” said the Colonel ; “ but what’s your 
objection to David ? ” 

“ Oh,” I replied, “ he hates the Highlanders very 
nearly as much as you may remember Nelly Leggy 
hated them ; he is an uncongenial element in all I 
may have to do in getting the further information 
I desire. So do give me a native to drive the dog- 
cart and take charge of it.” 

This being agreed upon, on the next day I reached 
the clachan about mid-day and found Ishabel ex- 
tremely well and animated. She received me with 
open arms, and showered again all her blessings on 
my head. 

“ Ishabel,” I said, “ ye’re looking fine this morn- 
ing ; I’m so glad to see it ! ” 

“Oo!” replied the old woman with a smile of 
amusement and affection playing over her aged 
face, “ I’m just renewing my youth like the aigle ; 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


99 


an’ I’m tliinkin’ it’s just wi’ seein’ you, Strathgled ! ” 
“Well,” I said rather thoughtlessly, “if you’re so 
fond of us, why did you ever leave us ? ” 

“ That’s a question,” said the old woman, drawing 
herself up as straight as an arrow, and putting on an 
expression at once sorrowful, dignified, and severe, 
“that’s a question that naebody, not even you, 
Strathgled, has ony right to ask o’ me. I canna 
speak o’ them that’s gane. Them that ever did ull 
to me, or spak ull o’ me, has been lang in the pres- 
ence o’ their Maker. I canna be much langer ahint 
them ; an’ ye ken the Scruptur that says that for every 
idle word we speak we’ll hae to gie an accoont. It wad 
be naething but idle words o’ me, if I were to tell what 
made me flee. But, Strathgled,” she went on, with 
increased tenderness, but with also some increased 
severity, “ ye surely canna think it was a sma’ trouble 
that made me face your driech lonely hulls ; that sent 
me in your kintray, for four days and four nichts 
tramping across them, an’ they’re mair like big pud- 
dings than hulls like oor ain here : an’ for a’ that 
time I ne’er seed a body forby a cadger on his 
pownie, an’ ae nicht in an awfu’ storm, I sleepit in 
a shepherd’s cottage. Na! na! Strathgled. I canna 
tell ye mair, an’ ye’re no’ to ask.” 


100 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


“ Oh ! ” I replied, “ I beg your pardon, Ishabel, I 
spake hastily with my tongue ; but now there’s an- 
other question I am sure you will let me ask. You 
told me the other day, when we spoke of things not 
altogether of this world, that you had yourself had 
some experience of them ; and you spoke sairly of 
us low country folk for not believing in them. Will 
you tell me what you may ? for your own old stories 
have lived with us, and I have kenned them from a 
child.” 

u Weel, Strathgled,” said the old woman, relaxing 
again into attitudes and expressions of a sorrowful 
and solemn tenderness, “ I hae na’ far to go to tell ye 
that. In yer ain hoose, an’ in yer ain family, I hae 
seen the things that ye mean ; an’ it’s weel ye said 
when ye spak o’ them as no’ a’thegither belonging 
to this warld; for, believe me, Strathgled, we’re 
leevin’ in a warld o’ speerits, an’ some o’ them’s i’ 
the body an’ some o’ them’s no, an’ it’s but whiles 
that we can see them ; but they’re a’ aboot us, an’ 
when it’s His wull He lets us hae glints o’ them, 
jist as signs till us no’ to think the veesible warld’s 
a’ that we hae to do wi’ ; an’ it’s whiles to warn us, 
an’ whiles to comfort us, that He lets this be done. 
Noo, Strathgled, I was saying that I hae na’ far to 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


101 


go to let ye see what I’m meanin’. Ye may hae 
heerd tell that your faither had a wee brither that 
was aboot twa years aulder than himsel’ ; an’ your 
gran’faither, the auld Laird as they ca’d him in my 
day, he had an awfu’ notion o’ that wean that was 
his firstborn. Weel, the bairn took ill an’ died, an’ 
your gran’faither he was that wae I thocht he wad 
hae fainted on the bed when the wean’s een were 
closed. Weel, the next morning when I got up an’ 
looked oot o’ my window that was abune the nursery, 
I seed upon an auld ash-tree that stretches oot its 
airms frae the castle bank till ane o’ them maist 
reaches the castle wa’, — I seed, sittin’ on the brainch 
that was nearest the nursery window, a white Doo’. # 
Now, ye ken, Strathgled, as weel as me, that the 
tame Doos dinna sit on trees when they can help it, 
an’ never before had I seen a Doo on that tree in a’ 
the years I had been at Strathgled. But, oh ! I 
was fain to see it, an’ I ran doon the stairs to see if 
I could find the auld Laird. So I ran to the library, 
an’ went raal canny intuit, no’ to disturb him on the 
suddent. An’ there was he sitting in his airm-chair 
beside the fire, and he was glowering into the fire 
half dazed like, an’ noos an’ thans he wad luft up the 
* Pigeon. 


102 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


palms o’ his haun’s jist a wee bit, an’ then let them 
fa’ again. So says I, speakin’ till him, 4 Laird, wull 
ye come wi’ me for a wee minute till I show ye some- 
thing ? ’ Then he started up when he heerd my voice, 
for he had a great notion o’ me ; an’ said he : 4 Isha- 
bel, monj ’s the time ye hae said that to me, when it 
was to see some wee thing the bairn had just learned 
to do ; but what can ye hae to show me noo ? ’ But 
he follow’t me for a’ that he said that ; an’ I took 
him into the nursery an’ past the bed whare his bairn 
lay deid, even furrit on till the window, an’ then I 
said till him, 4 Noo, Laird, do ye see that?’ an’ I 
pointed to the white Doo — an’ I’ll assure ye, when 
he seed it he turned that pale, ’maist as pale as his 
bairn was — an’ after he had glowered at it for a 
while, as he could na’ tak’ his een aff it, he turned 
to me, an’ said, 4 Ishabel ! what in the world is that 
bird doing there?’ An’ says I to him, 4 Ye may 
weel ask that, Laird, for the puir bird’s no’ doin’ 
naething for itsel’, nor did it come there by itsel’. 
It has been sent, an’ if ye turn roond an’ staun’ be- 
side the bed whare your wean’s lying ye’ll see its 
body, an’ when ye look oot this way ye’ll see its 
speerit, or the sign o’ it, that has been gi’en ye frae 
the speerit warld. An’ ye maun tak’ it, Laird, as 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


108 


dootless it has been intended for ye.’ An’ wi’ that 
the colour cam’ back into the Laird’s face, an’ he 
clasped his haun’s thegither for very joy ; an’ a’ the 
mail* as the Doo rested there a’ that day, an’ it was 
still sittin’ there the nuxt morning when the licht 
cam’ on the auld castle an’ shined thro’ the brainches 
on the white Doo’s feathers. But that’s no’ a’. The 
auld Laird, when that nuxt morning cam’, an’ when 
he seed the same Doo stull yonder, he could na’ be- 
lieve it, an’ he thocht it maun be a veesion or that 
something had gane wrang wi’ oor een. So says he 
to me, 4 Ishabel, I’ll go to see if yon bird’s raaly a 
bird, for I ne’er heared tell o’ the like o’ it.’ So says 
I till him, 4 Ye’ll do weel to gang, Laird, that ye may 
be saitisfeed, for ye wull be.’ An’ ye’re grandfai- 
ther, he went oot, and roond by a wee graivel path 
that went roond the castle close till the verra wa’s. 
An’ when he cam’ under the ash-tree he luftet a wee 
bit chucky stane frae the graivel, an’ he jist jerket it 
up i’ the air foment the Doo. An’ the Doo jist gied 
a wee bit hotch upon the brainch, and coored doon 
again. But the Laird he seed it move, and he seed 
that it was na’ a veesion, but jist, as I tell’t him, a 
real Doo. An’ when he seed that, ye’r grandfaither, 
he aff wi’ his hat, an’ steppet back wi’ his heid bent, 


104 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


jist as if he was in the praisence o’ the burning 
hush, an’ he maun keep his face aye to the Doo, and 
wadna turn his back, hut jist stepped hack and 
hack till he cam’ till the hig toor whaur he he to he 
oot o’ sicht ; an’ then he put on his hat again, an’ 
says he to me, when he came in, 4 Ishabel, ye were 
right. It’s a’ true, God he tbanket.’ An’ I’ll assure 
ye, Strathgled, that, after that day, your gran’fai- 
ther was a changed man ; for he was aye minded o’ 
the Scruptur that says, 4 Show me a token for guid ; ’ 
an’ that was the way he took it, and was glad.” 

44 Oh, Ishabel,” I said, 44 I’m so glad you have told 
me this curious story, for it accounts for something 
I remember when I was a hoy. We had been shoot- 
ing some of the pigeons, and I shot a white one and 
brought it to my father, and he seemed so vexed. 
I could not understand it.” 

44 Weel,” said Ishabel, 44 your faither was ower 
young when his wee brither died to ken onything 
ahoot it ; hut nae doot he heerd tell, when he was 
aulder, o’ the white Doo that waked his wee brither ; 
for it was weel known to a’ that was in the castle at 
the time, for ’maist a’ had seen the Doo thae twa 
days sittin’ cooerin’ on the hrainch fornint the 
nursery window.” 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


105 


“Now, Ishabel,” I said, pursuing the conversation, 
“ I understand appearances like that, in the way you 
have explained them — that is to say, the providen- 
tial use o’ common things as signs and tokens to 
them that see them. And I don’t need to ask you 
about the foreseeing, whiles, o’ things to come ; for 
if they are to be, it is nothing but a veil that keeps 
us from seeing them, and it’s no hard to understand 
why that veil should be lifted now and then just 
for special purposes. But you know, Ishabel, that 
you Highlanders are full of notions about fairies and 
sic like ; and there’s a lochan on your own hill called 
the 4 Fairies’ Lochan,’ and you seemed quite angered 
yesterday when I told you that David Johnson, the 
keeper, called it 4 all havers/ ” 

44 Ye’re richt, Strathgled, I was angered ; but no’ 
aboot the fairies ; for I canna expleen aboot them 
nae mair nor yersel ; an’ I maun tell ye that they’re 
less seen than in my young days, mair nor a hunder 
year gane by. Maybe they’re gane frae us wi’ the 
incoming o’ the lowland sheep ; for naebody sleeps 
on the hulls noo, as we a’ used to do when I was a 
wean, for aboot twa months o’ the year. Ye ken 
that in thae auld days we didna ken that sheep wad 
leeve a’ the year on the hulls ; and if we had kent 


106 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


it we hadna the sheep to pit oot upon them. So 
ye see to get ony guid o’ the fine grass on the hulls, 
we had to drive oor beasts up there an’ stay wi’ 
them, and herd them, an’ mulk them ’maist day an’ 
nicht. An’ it was a gran’ time for us weans, picking 
the averens* an’ the blaeberries an’ sittin’ roond the 
fires when the parritch was made wi’ warm mulk 
for oor breakfast. An’ we sleepit in wee bit bothies 
jist made o’ turf an’ a wheen stanes for a foondation ; 
and we had wee holes to keek through an’ to let oot 
oor breath an’ to let in the air. An’ in the fine 
moonlight nichts we used to speak ane to anither 
aboot the fairies that made green rings i’ the muirs 
whaur the heather wadna grow, for the fairies liked 
the rings to dance on. An’ maybe it was the speakin’ 
aboot it, an’ thinkin’ aboot it, that jist put it mair an’ 
mair into oor heids ; an’ then, whiles, we thocht we 
seed them i’ the nichts— for I mind weel nane o’ us 
iver seed the same thing — some said they had seen 
ae thing an’ some anither; an’ it was aye when we 
were inside the wee bothies an’ keekin’ frae the 
holes, an’ there was naebody movin’, an’ oorsels, we 
were maybe expectin’. But whatever, Strathgled, 
it was no in every place that thae things were seen. 

* The cloud-berry. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


107 


It was aye in certain places ; an’ yon lochan, wi’ its 
shielin’s aboot it, was ane o’ the places. Mony 
mony’s the strange lichts I hae seen frae the wee 
shielin’ we sleepit in: whiles like rinnin’ on the 
groond, whiles lnftit up ower oor heids, an’ fleein’ 
aboot the rnuirs. An’ for that maitter, sic lights 
hae been seen aften an’ aften frae this very clachan, 
an’ are seen whiles at this very day : an’ him they 
ca’ anld Dugald here — tho’ he was a wean when I 
was an anld wumman — he’s an elder o’ the Kirk, 
an’ he tell’t me no lang syne that thae lichts were 
— what ye ca’ it in the low kintray tongue supper 
. . . something . . . . 

“ Oh,” I said, helping her, “ I suppose you mean 
‘ Supernaetral.’ ” 

“ Aye, that’s the very word ; an, there’s nae siccan 
a word in Scruptur an’ there’s no the thocht it 
means : for the things o’ the speeritual warld are 
aye spoken o’ there as if they were the maist naetral 
o’ a’ things. But the lichts they tell me they see 
frae their ain doors doon here, are naething to the 
lichts we used to see in the auld days when I 
was a bairn, on the taps o’ thae hulls an’ in the 
wee corries amangst them i’ the fine moonlicht 
nichts, an’ espeecially when the moon was maistly 


108 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


by, an’ when the very wunds were quiet, an’ when 
the gloamin’ in the sky to the nor’ard lasted through 
half the nicht. Och, och ! Strathgled, thae were 
happy days, yon ; an’ mony mony’s the sair heart 
I hae when I think o’ the generations that’s gane 
awa’ o’ them that hae been the children’s childer, 
since my shielin’ days ! ” 

Touched, but at the same time fired, by the poetry 
and pathos of the old woman, I conceived an irre- 
ristible desire to spend that very night upon the 
hills. 

“ Ishabel,” I said, “ do you know what I’m going 
to do? Yesterday, as we were coming down the 
hill, the moon was rising; and this very night it 
will be full. It is a splendid day, and it will be a 
grand night for me. I’ll go alone to the shieling 
where you were wont to be as a child ; and may be,” 
I added, “ I’ll see some o’ the things you used to 
see.” 

“ Ye’ll no see that,” said Ishabel, “ if ye dinna pit 
frae ye the dour speerit that used to vex me amang 
your low kintray folk when I was doon amangst 
them.” 

“ Oh, but Ishabel,” I said, “ you have saved me 
from that. Your Highland stories lasted all my 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 109 

father’s life, and they’ll last mine ; little as I thought 
of ever seeing her that told them.” 

“ Weel then, Strathgled, ye may gang up to oor 
hull ; for ye’re young an’ strong; an’ if my aiild legs 
wad carry me as they used to do, I wad like fine to 
see the auld shielins ance mair afore I dee. But it 
may na’ be.” 

I then^ went out to the shed that passed for a 
stable in the clachan ; and, calling to the driver, I 
told him to take the dog-cart home to Achnasliee, 
and to tell the Colonel that I intended to remain all 
night on the Kilkiaran hills ; and that I should be 
much obliged if he would send for me next morning 
about eight o’clock. These instructions the driver 
received with much astonishment, his mouth wide 
open, but he said nothing. So, taking out of the 
dog-cart a good Ettrick Shepherd’s plaid that had 
done me good service on our “ pudding ” hills of the 
south, I resumed my place at the fireside of old 
Ishabel, and pursued my inquiries so far as I thought 
it prudent and respectful to do so. 

“ Now, Ishabel,” I said, “ I dinna like to ask you 
any questions that you don’t like to answer ; but 
you’ll understan’ that the story of your life is of 
deep interest to me, for I have heard of you dimly, 


no 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


all my days ; and I have friends who will never be- 
lieve I have seen you in the flesh if I cannot tell them 
something more than that I met you here by acci- 
dent. I think you spoke of your children’s children.” 

“ Ay, did I, Strathgled ; an’ I’ll tell ye a’ that ony 
body needs to ken aboot me. When I cam’ back 
frae the low kintray, — it’s aboot eighty years noo 
gane by — I was soon married upon a dacent man o’ 
the name o’ John Grant. He was a joiner to his 
trade ; an’ we were thegither in this warld aboot 
forty years ; an’ it’s anither forty since he gaed awa’ ; 
an’ we had four children ; three o’ them were lassies 
an’ ane was a boy, an’ they’re a’ i’ the kirkyaird noo. 
But ane o’ them was married an’ left five childer ; 
an, they’re a’ deed noo ; but ane o’ them had bairns, 
an’ some o’ them are leevin’, an’ the lassie that serves 
me in this hoose is ane o’ them. She’s like what ye 
ca’ my great grandchild ; an’ she’s never gane to 
service r the low kintray, for she was needed at 
hame jist to keep me ; for I was still aye in the way. 
An’ that’s why the lassie canna speak nae English, 
for she’s been here a’ her days. An’ there’s a brither 
that works the croft that oor late Laird here gied to 
my husband when he gied up his trade o’ joiner. 
An’ in the forty years I was a married wumman, I 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


Ill 


had mony sair troubles, that there’s nae need to 
speak o’ noo. Not but that John was a good and 
obadient husband unto me, an’ I’m looking to join 
him again soon in a better world. For noo, Strath - 
gled, ye’ll see what a world o’ death and sorrow this 
airth has been to me, — for a’ the Lord’s mercies, and 
they hae been mony indeed — an’ hoo I hae seen the 
generations come an’ go before me jist as if I had 
been a lone hull tap, like some o’ them that’s abune 
us here. But there are glints o’ sunshine on my 
auld heid yet, an’ ane o’ them has been seein’ you ; 
for my hairt is no cauld yet, an’ I hae mind o’ a’ the 
kindness I had frae your grandmither an’ a’ the love 
I had for your faither when he was a wee boy. An’ 
noo, Strathgled, afore ye go to the hull the nicht, ye 
maun hae supper wi’ me ; an’ it’s no much that I hae 
to pit afore ye, but ye’ll no mind that, Strathgled, I 
ken fine, for ye’re jist the very dooble o’ ye’re grand- 
faither, an’ he was a kind an’ freendly man, and 
mony’s the meal o’ ’taties an’ mulk he used to hae 
amang his ain folk.” 

“ Well, Ishabel,” I said, “in whatever else I may 
be like my grandfather I am certainly like in that ; 
for there’s nothing I like better than just what ye 
hae in this hoose.” 


112 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


And so, leaving the house to let the fat lassie 
prepare our meal, I spent an hour or two in explor- 
ing the deep ravine, and its brawling torrent, that 
passed near the clachan. I found every square yard 
of ground a perfect garden. All the three kinds of 
heath and heather, harebells, potentillas, and the 
little blue milkwort, and flowers of many other 
kinds ; whilst, in all the softer ground, beds of bog 
myrtle made the air fragrant with its powerful 
odour. On my return to the cottage, I found a little 
table set out by the side of the old woman, covered 
with a very clean though rather coarse cloth, and 
an ample provision of beautifully boiled potatoes, 
jugs of foaming warm milk, oat- cake well baked and 
toasted at the fire, cheese, and a few smoked or 
kippered herrings. Above all, the fat lassie was 
decked out in her Sunday “ braws,” and very braw 
they were. It was difficult to conceive where they 
had been kept and brought from; but a rough 
wooden chest near one of the box beds revealed the 
secret. Hunger, and the charms of interest and ex- 
pectation, lent enchantment to the meal, and never 
did I enjoy any dinner so much as that one at 
Ishabel’s fireside, the peat smoke curling past us and 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 113 

over our heads till its wreaths seemed to shoot out 
of the aperture in the roof. 

Ishabel did the part of hostess with that natural 
ease and grace which is common among the High- 
land people. The fat girl waited on us with abroad 
smile on her good-humoured face, whilst Ishabel’s 
countenance bore witness to the happiness it gave 
her to entertain “ the bairn o’ the bairn ” that she 
had nursed and loved in her own youth. I could 
now see by the light of a couple of dip candles some 
marks of great age which had escaped me in the 
shadows of the unilluminated cottage. Her eyes, 
which were naturally of a dark hazel, were invaded 
deeply by that ring of milky white which comes in 
advanced years. But I saw what Nelly had described 
to the Colonel and myself thirty years before as 
one of the recollections of her own childhood ; that 
“ far-away look ” which almost seemed to interpret 
and explain the words of Scripture, “ as seeing Him 
who is invisible.” Her gestures, too, in speaking, 
with her hands and arms, were eloquent and digni- 
fied ; and Nelly’s description rose to my remem- 
brance, “Ye wad hae thocht she was a queen ! ” 

The sun had set some time before our meal and 

talk were over. Then, rising and wishing Ishabel 
8 


114 THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 

good night, I said, “ I hope I’ll see what you have 
seen ” 

“Ye’ll see naething, Strathgled,” said the old 
woman gravely, “ that ye dinna tak’ wi your een to 
see ; an’ mind, ye’ll no’ see naething if there’s a hair 
o’ yer heid ootside my auld shieling.” 

When I stepped out of the cottage into the open 
air, I found that the moon had sailed up into the 
heavens through a considerable arc, and was shining 
with that colour of greenish gold, set against a sky 
of purple a little roseate, which is not uncommon in 
the finest weather. My walk up the hills was most 
enjoyable: nothing broke the stillness of the air 
except the subdued sound of some waterfalls, and 
one interruption of which I was myself the cause. 
Seeing a low, flat boulder stone in my path, I jumped 
upon it, and jumped down on the other side. In 
doing so I disturbed the slumbers of a family of 
curlews which had established there their quarters 
for the night. The old birds rose in the greatest 
alarm, with that loud note, half scream, half whistle, 
which is characteristic of the species. I then had 
occasion to observe what I had noticed once before, 
the very feeble power of even the brightest moon to 
illuminate small objects sufficiently to keep them 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


115 


long visible in the air. The curlew is a largish bird 
with a wide spread of wing, and in daylight can be 
seen far away. But these curlews seemed to vanish 
into thin air within a very few yards of me, although 
their voices kept ringing among the ridges and rocks 
in front of me for a long time and apparently for a 
long way. The moon had made but little progress 
towards her setting when I reached the shieling. 
I soon found the one which Ishabel had indicated 
to me, as the rest of her childhood more than a 
hundred years ago. I found its enclosure thickly 
carpeted with the young and elastic shoots of heather, 
whilst on the top of the low elevations which in- 
dicated the old walls, the heather had been cropped 
close by the muirfowl. Lying down in this most 
comfortable bed, I wrapped my plaid round me, and 
lay looking now at the moon on the distant sea, 
and now at a few ripples on the lower end of the 
lochan which just caught a few of its rays. The 
fragrance of the air, the perfect peacefulness of the 
whole scene, together with the soft elasticity of my 
heather bed, threw me gradually, not into a pro- 
found sleep, but into a state of perfect rest and of 
half-sustained consciousness. 

Roused from this when the moon was dipping 


116 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


slowly into the sea, I took out my shoulder telescope 
and brought it to bear upon her disc. Not many 
know the effect of doing this, and the visible revela- 
tion which it makes. In southern Europe and in 
the East, the air is so clear that we do not merely 
know that the moon is a globe, but we can see that 
it is a great ball suspended, without visible support, 
in the immensity of space. In our climate this is 
never, or is very rarely, seen. The moon is a circle 
like a plate ; but a glass, even of very low power, 
reveals to the eye all that is seen by unaided vision 
in the lands where the heavenly bodies have ever 
made the deepest impressions on our race. Nor 
was my look at the setting moon devoid of other, 
and more earthly, revelations. To my surprise I 
saw passing across her disc and the field of my glass, 
small companies, and some strings, of wild fowl. 
All our world was not asleep ! The happy birds, 
with their wonderful powers of aerial flight, were 
busy on their journeys round me and above me. 
The very air was evidently full of living things 
which had all the landscape below them spread out 
as a map, with its dark mountains, and its shining 
lakes, and its wide spaces of the sea. Trying to 
imagine and to reproduce what such scenes would 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


117 


represent to ns, how it would displace our ideas of 
hills which we call lofty, and of distances which we 
think considerable, I fell again into a half conscious 
reverie. During this time the moon finally disap- 
peared and the stars came out into brilliance. 

Suddenly, I saw oy seemed to see some lights of 
the phosphorescent colour and size of a glowworm 
issuing from all the holes and crevices of the rocky 
scaur which formed the opposite bank of the lochan. 
They were innumerable. Every rock and stone 
seemed to throw out a group of them. For a mo- 
ment they remained steady ; but in another mo- 
ment they broke into a perfect cataract of glowing 
light tumbling headlong down to the margin of the 
lake. In another moment they had passed over 
the water far enough to reach a large bed of water- 
lilies. On these they moved in mazy dance, and 
increasing in the brilliancy and intensity of the 
light, as fire-flies do in their descending flight. I 
could not make out the forms. All outlines seemed 
to melt into various degrees of radiance. Some- 
times they wheeled in circles on the surface of the 
still dark waters, like those brilliant little beetles 
which play in circles on the surface of a little pool 
in summer. But the most beautiful effect was 


118 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


when they perched themselves on the open petals 
of the water-lilies and then threw their aerial hues 
downwards among the golden anthers. I noticed 
particularly how the petals did not bend the least 
under any weight, and how the large flat leaves im- 
parted no tremor to the water from the shining 
beings who danced upon them. Presently I saw as 
if it had been little fleets launched, and naval en- 
counters imitated : again I could not see the shapes 
distinctly, but some seemed to me to be the shells 
of hazel nuts, whilst others were in miniature like 
those galleys of the Vikings, which used to swarm, 
in centuries long past, all along the seas below. 
Suddenly two separate squadrons emerged from a 
bed of reeds at the lower end of the lochan, amongst 
which I had observed their gathering lights some 
minutes before. They issued with a rush, as if 
moved by powerful banks of oars, although not the 
slightest disturbance was made by them in the still- 
ness of the water. In the middle of the lochan they 
seemed to wheel against each other and to have an 
encounter : then one of them gave way and dashed 
off towards the shore above which I was lying. 
Attracted as a needle is by a powerful magnet, my 
eyes seemed compelled to follow them, and refused 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


119 


to allow them to be obscured by intervening pro- 
jections in the bank. Unconsciously they were 
stretched forward to hold the sight. In an instant 
all the lights were extinguished, and nothing re- 
mained but the placid water, reflecting a few of the 
more brilliant stars. The rocks were of a cold 
grey and black, cut clear and sharp against the 
pale after-glow which lasts for hours in the High 
lands in the north-western horizon. This sudden 
and indeed instantaneous change roused me into a 
fuller consciousness, from a state of almost com- 
plete absorption. Then it flashed upon me how 
Ishabel had said: “If there’s but a hair o’ your 
heid ootside the auld shieling ye’ll no’ see nae- 
thing ! ” I had certainly stretched my head beyond 
the line, and the forfeit had been paid. So wrap- 
ping my plaid about me as old Kelly had described 
the habit of Highland drovers, I shrank back upon 
the soft elasticities of the heath inside, and fell fast 
asleep. 

When I awoke, the first rosy touches of the dawn 
had begun to appear over distant mountains in the 
east. Descending the hill slowly, I had reached 
the final steep but grassy slopes which fell towards 
the clachan, when my attention was drawn to a 


120 the highland nurse. 

considerable herd of red deer, which were advanc- 
ing at a rapid trot towards the ravine and burn 
which separated the hill on which I stood from ex- 
tensive moors on the other side. I stopped to watch 
them. They seemed as if on the way from some 
favourite pasture to some other place of quiet repose 
during the day. On approaching the ravine, they 
descended it at a little gap or pass, opposite to 
which the stream was less turbulent, and where its 
waters collected in a long shallow pool. They 
were led by some large stags with splendid antlers. 
When they had gained the bottom of the ravine, 
I was amazed to see them pass through the stream 
without the slightest disturbance of the water, and 
without the slightest sound of splashing. They 
then breasted the hill on which I stood, mounted 
its slopes like an army of men at a steady charge, 
crossed the path in front of me, not more than 150 
yards off ; and were presently seen on the sky-line 
to my right, the antlers disappearing slowly and 
gradually like the spears or bayonets of a body of 
men as the slight declivity of the ground kept them 
in sight long after the bodies of the deer were 
hidden from my view. 

On pursuing my way, I found that not the vestige 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


121 


of any foot-print was left on any of the soft and 
boggy bits of ground through which I had seen them 
pass, — the very dew-drops on the grass and rushes 
were undisturbed. I had not heard from Ishabel of 
any phantom deer being ever seen even on the vis- 
ionary heights of Achnashee. So, pursuing my way, 
and halting so as not to reach the clachan too early, 
I knocked at my old friend’s door about seven o’clock. 
The stout girl opened it ; and the old woman, though 
in bed, was sitting bolt upright, with a shawl or 
plaid round her of black and red chequers. She 
received me with open arms, and when I ap- 
proached her said: “ Weel, Strathgled, I ken fine 
that ye hae seen the lichts ; for I dreamed o’ them, 
an’ I hae seed what ye seed. I’m weel assured o’ 
that ! ” 

“Yes, Ishabel,” I said, “ I’ve seen a great deal 
more than ever you told me about ; for beside the 
‘ lichts,’ as you call them, I have seen a herd of deer 
that went through water without disturbing it, and 
ran over soft and boggy places without leaving a 
single footstep.” 

“ Oo,” said Ishabel, “ an’ ye hae raally seen that ! 
Weel, Strathgled, I hae never seed it ; but I hae 
aften heerd tell o’ ithers seein’ it ; an d’ye ken, 


122 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE . 


Strathgled, it’s maistly been seen by low kintray 
folks an’ no by Hielandmen. It’s jist as if it were 
sent to gar them think an’ to fin’ oot that there’s a 
wheen things they dinna understand i’ this warld. 
But you dinna need that, Strathgled, I’m thankfu’ 
to say. It’ll do ye nae hairm whatuver,” added 
Ishabel, after a long pause. 

“ Now, Ishabel,” I said, “ I’ll tell you what I’m 
going to do. I must go home early to-day to Ach- 
nashee, and the dog-cart will be here for me. It is 
not come yet ; but if you’ll tell your lassie to give 
me a bit of oat-cake and a jug of milk, I’ll walk on to 
meet the man. And I mean, as soon as I possibly 
can, to bring your new Laird here to see you. He 
heard of you often in his younger days.” 

“ An’ mony’s the lee he’s been tell’t,” interrupted 
the old woman. 

“ Oh, never mind the stories he has heard ! But 
I can hardly persuade him that you are alive.” 

“ An’ nae wonder,” said Ishabel ; “ I can forgie 
him that, for mony mony’s the time I hae wondered 
for what purpose I hae been preserved in this life, 
when a’ that was aroond me in my braw days hae- 
passed awa’. I’ll be glad to see oor new Laird. 
A’body speaks weel o’ him, an if lie’s been an auld 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


123 


frien’ to the Strathgleds, he’ll be an auld frien’ 
to me.” 

The milk and oat-cake did not detain me long ; 
and in a few minutes I was on my way home ; and, 
soon meeting the dog- cart, I was enabled to rejoin 
the Colonel just before his breakfast. 

“ Well, Laird,” he said, when I entered the room, 
“ I hope you have found more c traces ’ of the auld 
wife that you have discovered who is above a 
century old ? ” 

This was said with a little jeering laugh, which 
was the sure sign of obstinate incredulity, and of 
pitiful contempt for the follies of his friends. 

“ Oh, Colonel,” I replied, “ I’m not going to argue, 
but I’ll make a bargain; — if you’ll give up your 
fishing for one half day, and will drive with me to 
visit a woman who — whatever else she’ll be — is at 
least the oldest tenant on your estate, I’ll take any 
bet you like to name that we shall return home 
agreed.” 

“Well, done!” said the Colonel. And it was 
soon arranged that as the Colonel had some special 
business on the morrow, our joint expedition should 
be made on the day following. On that day after 


124 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


to-morrow to which we are all so apt to postpone 
our resolutions ! 

Meantime, as I had gathered from Ishabel’s lan- 
guage about the deer that the phantom herd was 
known and spoken of by many in the place, I de- 
termined to try the Colonel on this point. 

“ Colonel,” I said, “ we’ll have no discussion about 
the woman till we have seen her together. But 
possibly you may believe what I have seen with 
my own eyes in the rising light of this morning’s sun . 
1 must congratulate you on a fine herd of deer you 
have on this estate ! ” 

“ What deer ? ” asked the Colonel in great sur- 
prise, lifting his shaggy eyebrows, and fixing a 
steady gaze upon me, then adding : “ I have no 

forest and there’s no forest very near us ! Ye maun 
be as daft about the deer as ye are about the 
wumman ! ” 

“ That may be,” said I ; “ but I saw a herd of deer 
as plain as I see you now. But I allow they seemed 
to be phantom deer ; for they crossed a burn with- 
out splashing the water, and they ran over soft and 
mossy ground without leaving a trace of a footmark 
behind them.” 

“ Do you tell me,” said the Colonel, staring in still 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 125 

greater astonishment, “ that you have seen that herd 
of deer?” 

“ Oh, then,” I said, “ it seems you do know some- 
thing about them already ? ” 

“Well,” he replied, “last year, soon after I came 
here, I had a friend from the Low Country with me 
who was devoted to the gun, and he was on the hills 
every day, sometimes returning very late. One 
evening he came home, telling me he saw just what 
you now describe, and I never saw a man so im- 
pressed by anything ; and since then I have heard 
it said that the same vision has been seen now and 
then at uncertain intervals by various persons. I 
have been trying to account for it by the effects of 
mirage — some of which, as we all know, are very 
singular and perplexing. But I can make nothing 
of it ! ” 

“No,” I said, “and you never will; but you’ll 
make something out of my old woman, and I’ll tell 
you her explanation after our visit has been paid ! ” 
On the second morning after this conversation a 
light pony-carriage was ordered to drive the Col- 
onel and me to the clachan of Kilkiaran, our object 
being to reach it not sooner than four o’clock in the 
afternoon, as I was uncertain how late Ishabel 


126 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


might habitually remain in bed. We stopped the 
carriage about a hundred yards from the claclian, 
at a point from which the road became very rough 
and stony, and the Colonel and I walked up to the 
door. On its being opened, I could see that the old 
woman had not yet occupied her chair beside the 
fire. The stout girl now approached the Colonel 
very softly and whispered something in his ear in 
Gaelic, of which language the Colonel had never 
lost some little recollection, although he did not 
speak it. 

“ What does she say ? ” I asked in the same 
voice. 

“ She says,” explained the Colonel, “ that the old 
woman was restless and sleepless in the night, and 
that we had better not disturb her, as she is sleep- 
ing soundly now.” 

“ Ask her,” I said, “ whether she has had any- 
thing to keep up her strength ? ” This was inter- 
preted to the girl, whose reply was that she had 
taken some milk and whiskey. As an old bachelor, 
the Colonel knew nothing about nursing ; whilst, as 
a family man, I had come to know only too much 
about it. The reply of the girl however seemed 
satisfactory. As the floor of the cottage, being of 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


127 


dried clay, gave out no sound from a careful tread, 
I advanced on tip-toe to the box bed in which I 
had seen her two days before. When my eyes had 
time to penetrate the darkness of its recess, the 
face of my old friend revealed itself gradually to 
me, but differing little in colour from the pillow on 
which it rested. I saw in a moment that her sleep 
was sound indeed. It was the sleep of death. The 
spirit of Ishabel MacGregor had passed without a 
sigh or sound into that spirit world which had 
always been so near to her. Shocked but not sur- 
prised, I turned round and beckoned the Colonel to 
approach, whispering into her ear as he came close 
up, “ She’s gone! but you can see all that’s left.” 

The Colonel, shading his brows with his hand to 
penetrate the gloom, at last caught sight of the 
face and stood rivetted to the spot. The outline or 
profile of the face was magnificent ; more like those 
accidental profiles of the human face which we some- 
times see on rocky precipices than in any form of 
flesh. It was cut clear and sharp, powerful and im- 
pressive, like the outline of a mighty crag which has 
fronted the blasts and the waves of ocean for some 
unknown period of time. After he had stood gaz- 
ing for a few moments he turned to me and whis- 


128 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


pered : “ I believe yon now ; never have I seen a 
human face with such marks of extreme age.” 

The poor girl had now been attracted by our 
movements and our whisperings ; and, as the terri- 
ble truth flashed upon her, she rushed between us 
and threw herself on the body with a prolonged and 
piercing wail. Vain was the help of man. We 
turned and left the cottage, sending messages to 
some of the neighbours of the event which had taken 
from amongst them the last link with many genera- 
tions, and asking them to help the poor girl, whom 
we could only leave in her distress. 

I had before arranged to bring my visit to the 
Colonel to a close on the following day ; but I now 
felt this to be impossible. I could not leave the 
country before the last honours had been paid to the 
old friend of my house and family, and who besides 
seemed to me to be in many ways quite the most 
remarkable woman I had ever known. Cottagers 
cannot postpone such matters long, and after an 
interval of three days, the Colonel and I returned to 
theclachan of Kilkiaran to attend the funeral. There 
was a large attendance from all the surrounding 
country side. The plain black coffin was laid upon 
benches just where her own chair used to stand. 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


129 


That chair itself was reserved for the Colonel, to 
which the bereaved girl invited him. The minister 
of the parish conducted a short but impressive ser- 
vice — impressive to others apparently from the 
emotion it excited — impressive to me, who could not 
interpret a word, from the voice of the minister and 
the demeanour of the people. When the service 
was over, two men lifted the coffin as easily as if it 
were a feather’s weight and moved with it to the 
door. 

The Colonel took the opportunity of introducing 
me to the minister, who was a reverend old man, 
with hair as white as driven snow. 

u Have you known her long?” I asked of him 
when he spoke. 

“ I have been minister of this parish these forty 
years or more, and when I came to it Ishabel was 
then the oldest woman in the clachan, and was com- 
monly called the old mother of Kilkiaran. Her as- 
cendancy in all the counsels and concerns of the 
people was undisputed. I must confess that I re- 
garded her with a kind of awe. She knew her Bible 
better than I did, and her spiritual applications of 
many passages were often as new to me as they 

were full of light. But we must go,” he added, as 
9 


130 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


the last member of the little congregation left the 
cottage to surround the bearers outside. 

On joining them the Colonel and myself were 
invited to follow the chief mourners, who were two 
of Ishabel’s great grandsons. On leaving the 
rough stones of the clachan, we found ourselves 
on an old, grassy, but tolerably smooth road, which 
led along the lower slopes of the same hill which 
I had ascended in another direction a few nights 
before. 

“Where is the churchyard?” I asked the Col- 
onel, who merely replied, “You’ll see presently;” 
and accordingly we had not walked half a mile be- 
fore we found ourselves on the top of a steep bank 
with another similar bank at a little distance, and be- 
tween the two a small glen or valley through which a 
burn ran, making its own sweet music in the silence. 
To my great surprise, immediately under the opposite 
bank which there receded from the burn for a con- 
siderable space, we looked down on the broken gables 
and crumbling walls of a very small, but apparently 
very ancient, chapel. The rowan trees on the steep 
bank behind it were hanging their scarlet clusters 
almost directly over it. Round it there was a rough 
enclosure ; and, amidst ferns, sedges, and meadow- 


THE HIGHLAND NUESE . 


181 


sweet, and all the varieties of an unchecked mount- 
ain vegetation, we could see a few tombstones and 
one remaining cross. This was Kilkiaran, the cell 
or chapel which had been built some 500 years ago, 
probably on the site of a much older and more frail 
erection, dedicated to St. Kiaran, one of the compan- 
ions of St. Columba. I had often heard of these old 
chapels as common in the Highlands ; but I could 
hardly have imagined the remoteness and the wild- 
ness of such a site. Many of them had originally 
been selected for the purposes of concealment from 
the eyes of roving and heathen Vikings. Traditional 
sites are long retained. Changes of population, in 
passing from the military to the industrial ages, had 
left many of these sites as lonely as they had been 
in prehistoric times ; whilst changes of creed had 
destroyed the forms of worship to which they had 
been consecrated. But nothing has broken the con- 
tinuity of feeling which imparts a more indelible 
consecration than any ceremony to the burial places 
of the dead. And therefore among the Highland 
people there has been a perfect continuity of rever- 
ence for those old sites and places, which for the 
most part are never reached by any voices but those 
of the curlew or the plover, but are ever being re- 


132 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


visited from time to time by such mourners as we 
were that day. 

A gap or pass in the steep bank before us, like 
that which the phantom deer had taken some days 
before, led us down to the burn ; and a very old 
stone bridge gave entrance to the little field of heathy 
pasture which extended to the chapel. We found 
that the grave had been opened close under the old 
east window of the building, the arch ol which, 
with some rude Norman mouldings, was still pre- 
served. Into this grave the coffin was reverently 
lowered in the midst of an uncovered congregation, 
many of whom, I could see, gazed into the grave 
with a look not only of reverence, but of awe. 

When the earth had been levelled over, a move- 
ment among the people indicated that there was 
still something more to do. To my surprise, I saw 
that an apparently very ancient tombstone had been 
lifted from the spot, and that it was intended to re- 
lay it over the remains of Ishabel. It was a flat 
stone, very rudely and yet very beautifully sculp- 
tured. In the middle was the figure of a knight in 
armour with a conical cap or casque upon his head — 
a tunic or kilt possibly of mail which descended to 
the knees, and a great broadsword hanging by his 


THE HIGHLAND NUBSE. 


133 


side. The spaces of stone, unoccupied by the figure, 
were covered with low sculptured patterns of beauti- 
ful and various devices. The opposite sides and 
corners were never identical, hut always in perfect 
harmony, as if the command of the sculptor over 
the most graceful scroll-work were indeed inexhaust- 
ible. Every interspace left vacant by the working 
out of any one pattern was at once filled up by 
something entirely different yet entirely congruous ; 
some rosette or cross, or flower or leaf, which was 
in exquisite harmony with the rest. The edges of 
the stone were bevelled so as to present a separate 
surface, down which a long and lovely tendril wound 
its gentle curves from one end of the stone to the 
other. The whole was much worn by time, and by 
the feet of man. 

“ They’re surely not going to put that old knight 
over Ishabel’s grave,” I said to the minister who 
was standing near me. 

“ Indeed they are,” he replied ; “ the people here 
attach great value to those old stones. They love 
to bury their own dead below them. These stones 
are never dated ; but some of them may probably 
have been here between three and four hundred 
years. The old knights over whom they were origi- 


134 


THE HIGHLAND NURSE. 


nally laid, have long since crumbled into dust, and 
successive generations, at more or less distant inter- 
vals, have been laid beneath them. It may seem to 
you incongruous ; but after all there is a rational 
feeling underlying it. Those old knights were the 
men from whose military conduct and capacity the 
people of these old clachans derived the only kind 
of security they ever had. Whatever lands, or flocks 
and herds, they possessed, were acquired, and could 
only be held, under the protection of those swords 
that you see sculptured there. Old Ishabel herself 
had a great reverence for them. She gave to them, 
as she did to everything else, a spiritual and alle- 
gorical application. They represented to her the 
soldiers of the Cross, and the long double-edged 
swords were in her eyes the weapons of the Spirit ; 
and as I know what a gallant fight she made in life 
through many sore trials, I am well content to think 
of the little that remained of her mortal body resting 
under these emblems of times which, in their physi- 
cal aspects, have passed away.” 

And so Ishabel MacGregor rests there, — without 
a monument, without even a lasting tomb — but not, 
if this story lives, without a record or without a 


name, 


























































































































. 














































THE 


HIGHLAND NURSE 

A TALE 


BY 

THE DUKE OF ARGYLL 


NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 



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